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CATENA DOiMlNICA: 



A SERIES OF 



SUNDAY IDYLS. 



BY 




JOHN HENRY ALEXANDER 



iumuX (BAximu 




New York: 
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH, 

No. 770 Broadway.. 
1867. 



^pC, \b^ 



■lO 



ALL KIND READERS. 

One evening, as the mellow sun-light slept 

Upon the sward and dyed it green and gold, 

While overhead the leaves a murmur kept 

And whispered what the oriole had told 

His mate, or what the thrush or hlue-hird hold 

Had carolled to them, in the early day, 

Of the far-distant ether, clear and cold, — 

Beside an ancient, haunted Elm I lay, 

With roving thoughts unsteady as yon quivei'ing spray. 

1 



11 CATENADOMINICA. 

Before me floated, then, among the rest, 
The shattered army of my youthful Dreams ; 
Shorn of the pomp that whilome did invest 
Their first Aurora-inarch with conquering gleams: 
Ah me ! how many a. gallant Hope now seems 
The pallid ghost of ichaP "'-^ used to he — 
Hbio many sunh in Acherontian streams, 
Never to rise — hoio many a shield I see 
No more, tliat aazzled erst loitn gorgeous oiazonry ! 

Then came the pictures blurred and canvass torn 
Of deeds {mine own and, others^) that present 
True scenes of what my real Life has home : 

— A somhre shew of learning, strength, mispent, 

— A gloomy train of shadows rearward hent. 
Beneath the slant rays of a sinking sun, 

— A funeral march of figures tremulent, 
Whose step no other music hurries on. 

Than the dull heart-heats ^neath the haunted Elm, alone. 



CATENA DOMINICA. lU 

Wearied with such sad visions, where did blend 
A thioarted Future ivith a wasted Past, 
Where Iloj^e greio heavy, when he would ascend, 
With such a load of Memories round him. cast, — 
I longed and prayed for something bright, at last 

My thoughts might turn to — something that might be 

» 
Uhmonotone, yet anchored ever fast 

To Truth — the sparhling of an Ocean free. 
The same, yet alioays new in its immensity. 

While thus I longed, as if in ansiver there 
(For hearty, healthy strivings, fit success /) 
The radiant image of the ' Church's Year 
{That rolls along with years loe treasure less,) 
Up-rose in long-knoivn, long-prized cowAiness, 
Linked strangely with the scenes suggesting if ; 
Ever the same, yet varying vjith the press 
Of Joy or Grief, luith hues fast-changing lit. 
Revolves that Year fm- aU in time and measure fUf 



IV C 71 T E N A , D M I N I U A . 

But rhiejiy, mid the lines of light ichicli. akou: 
Its course, I dwelt njyon that Sunday-chain 
Of fioUlcn Truth and Love, let down below, — 
Of gracious 2)romises and n-arnings 'plain : 
Less marked, it nuiy he, than the other train 

* Of Saintly feasts and n-eek-time Holy -day s ; 
Yet, in its order, bringing back again 
More of the lustre of the Saviour's way.s. 

Thai, all der Bethlehem and. Joseph^ s sealed Tomb plays 

Bathed in this lustre, then awhile grew dim 
The actual scene that close around me Iciy : — 
Unheard, the mocking -bh'd' s ivild, varied hymn 
That fitful swelled and sank, now grave, noiv gay ; 
Unmarked, the graces of the tremblous ■'<2)ray, 
Or melting colors, blending earth and sky ; 
— / only heeded the szveet, linked display 
Of that so luminous Chain which seemed to lie 
O'er-archinq, in its span, the azure canopy. 



CATENA DOMINICA. ' 

Arid, as I gazed, I could but vuirk the glea.m 
That self-supporting, like a diamond's, shone 
From each particidar link and made it seem, 
Ttself, tJie Jewel of the Chain, alone ; 
Till, looking at the next, I needs must oion 
My choice disturbed and, in the new-lit Maze, 
Found brighter hues or tints more tender grown, 
As caught from separate epochs in (Jjirtst's ways. 
His Groydle or His Cross — sfxd or triumphant days. 

All these I saw ; — the warning AdveM-dawn, 
The Paschal-noon with its angelic lyres, 
And then, (a week, between, of Sundays drawn') 
The evening -glow of Pentecostal fires ; — 
All these I felt, as clearest sight inspires 
A feeling ; so that, still while sun-light clung. 
Ere Hesper came to watch n-hen Day retires. 
Unconscious syllables, together fiung. 
Begun to tell of pictures ^neath the Elm-tree hung! 



Jfirst Sttitkg in ^irhnt. 



ONCE AND ONCE MOEE. 



Lord I who as at this time condescended 

To visit Earth in great humility; 
From all works by which Thou art offended, 

Our hearts and homes, ! help Thou us to free 
That both fit may prove 
To entertain Thy love 
And, not guest-wise only, welcome Thee! 

For this holy tide have we been yearning, 

(Apt season to begin our mystic Year) 

Haply from all 'round the lesson learning. 

By our true inner Life to draw more near ; 

Keeping quick and warm 

Thine own implanted germ, 

Mid the winter of our world-storms here. 
1 



First Siiuday in Advent. 

Blest, if in our heart of hearts we store tlieiii — 

The teaching and the thing — that both i?iay grow 
Deeper, stronger, for the ^jressure o'er them ; 
Till in our measure we may come to know 
How ail-graciously 
Was planned that Myster}-, 
In one phase of which Thou cam'st below. 

Waiting long, the world had looked out for Thee ; 

Not wholly left, meanwhile, uncomforted : 
Ever and anon, a Vision bore Thee 

In fitting glory by some prophet's bed ; 
Bringing music there 
So sweet, that its faint air 
Now ev'n, in Thy Church,' fresh life doth shed I 

Then there came a darker time and dreary, 

When Faith went unrefreshed by wonted sign ; 
When of ^Man's provoking God seemed weary 
And suifered pride or worse to soil His shrine ; 
Till some Maccabec 
Rose, now and then, to free 
Those who mo<»ldy bor.: all yokes but Thine; 



Once and Once More. 

Till at last arrived the moment gracious, 

That should the long-expected Presence bring ; 
Seraphs hymned it, through the empyrean spacious, 
Archangels message-bearing stooped the wing, 
And the midnight skies 
Glowed on the Shepherds' eyes — 
Sign of Apostolic heralding ! 

Ever since, in calmer light and clearer, 

(Though all Thy types are not as yet made plain,) 

K;ich return of this day but brings nearer 

Thy second coming to the Earth again : 

Ere its sun goes down, 

Many a soul shall own 

Angel-calls to rise and join Thy train. 

Still, those calls so soft, like dew-drops gentle, 
Man hardly heeds in this world's utter din ; 
Or, for purpose high. Thou spread' st a mantle 
To dull the echoes waking else within ; 
Making out of this, 
A future higher bliss 
For the patient, watchful heart to win ! 



First Sunday in Advent. 

But for such as will not bend nor waken, 
Another warning yet remains iu store : 
Soon the Earth, rocked terribly and shaken, 
Preserves no covered place she had before; 
.Soon, the friendly 2S'iglit 
Burns with intensest light, 
(xiving Jiope to hide from Thee no more. 

And if erst types, hard and dim, obscurely 

Foreshadowed Thine approach in human guise ; 
And Thy tokens silently though surely 
Marked but a crisis in our inner ties : 
Soon, all outward Siiri! 
And .Majesty Divine 
Will attend our world's last Mysteries ! 



Saviour ! keep us, in that hour of terror, 

Safe underneath the Cross, man raised for Thee ; 
And that we may know it well, ! nearer 
Make us, each day like this, its features see : 
So, hard-won at last. 
We, though all trembling, fast- 
Clingino- to its cracious foot may be ! 



ttmi^ Siniks ill l^lrhiit 



THE GLEANING OF THE GRAPES. 



" Why, when I looked for blusMng, wine-fed grapes, 

Are there but thorns?" — so once Thy prophet sung; 
Ho might he now reprove the wayward shapes 
Of thanklessness, of sin in heart and tongue, 
lalf-hid beneath that veil o'er priest and people flung. 

So, all the woes his mournful voice proclaimed. 

May o'er the Earth awaken righteously; — 
The faded flowers — the shadeless heat, untamed 

By slightest clouds — the long-lost melody — 
The storm and yawning graves o'er darken'd land and sea '. 

Therefore, ! Guardian of the lonely Vine, 

(Thine own loved Church,) we flee to Thee for aid ; 

Help us to see Thy promised day-spring shine 
Upon the covert which Thyself hast made. 
By whose green leaves alone. Thine outstretched arm is staid. 



(i Second Sinidai/ in Advent. 

We see Thy signs in the decaying year 

And coming winter wild ; before whose breath, 

The tender fig-tree casts its leafets sere, 
The shaken olive bows itself to death, 
Viid clouded Heavens look dark upon the Earth beneath ! 

'Tis Thine own vengeance, I thou Lord of Hosts, 

Against the earth defiled, awakening; 
V, 'rushing the haughty looks, the thoughtless boasts 

Of those pale prisoners whom Thou wilt bring 
Into Thy pit and snare to wait Thy visiting. 

For all these signs, Thy virgin-spouse, the Church, 

Would, like the Virgin-mother, nearer cling 
To Thee and, in Thy word of promise, search. 
Read, mark and learn, what she may gladly sing 
vVhen faded Winter melts in her sure-coming Spring ! 



®j)irir ^unkg in ^irhiit: 



SURE AND NIGH. 



Not by the flowers that gently sank 
vSo lately, in the parched glen ; 

Not by the jDurple fruits that drank 
The autumn-dews, to ripen then; 

Not by each pwiftly closing year ; 

Count we until our Lord be here : 



Nor by the tokens that impart 
An impulse to the coming end ; 

The miracles of ms^dern art 

That give back sight and lameness mend; 

Like what th' expectant Baptist knew 

As pledges of an Advent true : 



Nor even by less "earthly signs; 

The vintage of souls far away, 

1 



Third Sunday in Advent. 

The gleaming of tlieir length'ning lines 
Who come to own the G-ospel's sway; 
Till Christian Cross and symbols shine 
O'er Mahonnd's crescent, Yishnn's shrine: 

Not by all these or more : for still 

Our dear-bought hearts at home are cold ; 

And even now, our half-taught will 
Would wander forth, if it were told 

Of reeds that syllable the wind ; 

Some fresher, saving grace to find. 

And now ev'n those that claim and wear 
A royal Priesthood's priceless pall, 

Would to the desert rude repair. 
For Fancy's song, or Honor's call; 

Where raiment soft or hairy skin, 

Alike, their gaze admiring win. 

These find Thee not, though long ago 
Their childhood's tiny step went forth 

At the stern A^oice and Baptist- vow : — 
Alas, for their devotion's worth! 



Sure and Nigh. 9 

Still shews the prison of each heart 
The damsel's often-pencilled part. 

Yet these must find Thee, or in love 
Or wrath, before Thine Advent come; 

And soon each lingering one must prove 
The axe laid to his very home. 

If line and precept fail to win, 

'Tis time a sharper way begin. 

Time, thine, not ours ; Who found it fit 

To vail Thine elder message long 
And made Thy prophets utter it 

With stammering lips and other tongue ; 
In mercy, thus, to seek and try 
The readiest for Thy mystery \ 

He that believes will not make haste ; 

Content Thy season best to wait, 
He questions not the desert- waste 

If Christ be there, or royal state; 
But for his Saviour, (fitter part I) 
He opes and searches his own heart. 



10 Tliird Sunday in Advent. 

Not long, though (may be) many an age. 

Its unmillennial stream will roll ; 
Not long, though many a blotted jDage 

Of tears and woe, yet fill the scroll 
Of this world-life ; ere Thou dost show 
Thyself to all the living, now. 

And, if not in the majesty 
Unbearable of the last Day : 

Or if not in the mystery 

Of Heavenly love to those that pray ; 

'T will be with all the helpless dread 

That wraps the sinner's narrow bed 

So sure, so nigh! — Make ready, then. 

The hearts your Saviour waits to fill 
Or crush ; that, ere the flowers again 

Spread their sweet carpet by each rill, 
As fresh, as bright, as soft, be spread 
Our Life-flowers for that Saviour's tread ! 



J[0wrtj) ^Hiikg in ^ly&eitt. 



THE VISIBLE TEACHERS. 



O ! patient wait, and on Christ's promise stayed. 

Deem not the time delayed 
Ere He comes ; not, as once, in meek-borne paiu, 

But now to judge and reign ; 
O'ershadowing, as some cool, fount-giving Rock, 
His wandering, weary flock, 
While toppling crags and widening chasms scare 
And crush rebellious ones who scorned His word to bear. 

His time, His help, in hopeful stillness bide ; 

Nor dream of other Gruide ; 
Build no fond altar up to human skill 

Or science or stern will ; 
Looking to Egypt, land of portents vast 

And mystic learning waste, 
As erst the Chosen's more than heathen Night 

Spread hr-r dim arms abroad to lean on Pharaoh's might. 

11 



12 Fourth Sunday in Adot'iif. 

But if, more blest, thou tread'st a Christian shrine, 

Owning the Power Divine 
That haunts it, waiting there for Advent-light 

To dawn upon thy sight — 
Think not such privilege enough may be : 
Since once the Pharisee 
Gazing on Abraham with filial pride, 
Missed the Messiah's self, all radiant by his side. 

'Tis true that no proud Hebrew blood sustains 

The current in our veins : 
But ev'n from stones Gtod raises, at Christ's claiu:. 

Children to Abraham ; 
And, in our stonier hearts and hardened path, 
He looks but for the faith 
The Chaldee had, t' avouch us, too, the heirs 
Of that high blessedness which but the Faithful shares. 

Lo ! early signed by more than Baptist's hand, 
Within His Church we stand ; ' 

Whose fretted roof and pillared aisles around 
With words of Life resound 

From teachers now no more removed for fear 
To lonesome crypts and drear 



The Visible Teachers. 13 

Or darkling corners in some city <ast, 

Or forests whose gaunt trees their shadows frightful cast. 

Secure and calm, our eyes our Teachers see ; 

And, wheresoe'er we be, 
If passion tempts us from the right to stray, 

Or to the left-hand way 
Our lingering frailties cause us to decline — 

A warning Voice Divine, * 

With G-ospel-burden fraught, is near to woo 
And whisper : " Here Christ trod ; here ye must follow too." 

So let us follow, in obedient love, 

Where we shall shortly prove 
An Advent to ourselves, if not to all ; 

Striving meanwhile, like Paul, 
Christ undivided in our hearts to keep ; 
And if we fall asleep 
Ere Christmas wakes with angel-melodies, 
All nearer float we where its songs of sweet peace rise. 



Jfirst Sintbi^ii dUx Cljristiiuis. 



THE CHRIST IN THE TEMPLE. 



So young and yet so wise ! 

So tender and so true ! 
So bold to handle mysteries I 
So clear, to solve them too ! — 
Thus spake the Rabbin, stern and cold, 
What day the wondrous Child his Father's message told 

They cowered before his gaze. 

His eyes so grave and bright ; 
Condemned so long to Evening-haze, 
They saw the Evening-light 
That failed, alas ! for thorn to show 
The highway new wherein the humble safely go, 

Forgot, the prophet-tone 

That told what Majesty, 
Beyond the shrine of Solomon, 

Tn that new House should be ; 

14 



TliG Christ in the Temi^le. 15 

The Presence from themselves they reft, 
Unstriving (Israel-like) till It a blessing left. 

Therefore, since Man so willed. 

Woke other prescient strains ; 
O'er chords that gladness might have filled, 
A mournful music reigns, 
Echoed in that sad Mystery 
Where Princes of this world their Lord would crucify ! 

Do we from such dark scene 

Withdraw our shuddering gaze 
And fondly think, if we had been 
In those Incarnate Days, 
We should our privilege have prized 
And. in the Temple-child, Messiah recognized? — 

« 

0, woful self-deceit! 

0, more than Israel blind ! 
Each day, beneath our very feet, 
Such gracious aids we find 
As not the seeing, wondering Jew 
Or Prophet-king of old or Bard inspired e'er knew ! 



16 First Sunday after Christinas. 

So, near each faithful heart 
Here in his House to-day, 
Christ stands (no more in Childlike part 
Except its loving way) 
To question every doubt and fear 
And wisely answer those who will but bend to hear. 

Needs but the wish sincere, 

Him by our side to bring : 
Unstopped by Him the heavy ear, 
The dumb throat taught to sing, 
While flowers of Love and Peace will bless 
The Desert of the heart, the soul's drear wilderness ! 

0, heavier far (believe) 

If blind, our sin and woe 
Than theirs who failed once to receive 
The Child in mortal show ! 
Then ope each bosom to enshrine, 
In Faith's devoutest pomp, the Presence all Divine ! 



>U0itir SwHirag dhx €\xhtmM. 



THE EVERGREENS. 



Lo mid the Evergreens we sit, 

— Of thy fast word, an emblem fit — 

Watching Thy purpose high 
And longing for each fleeting Year 
Some promised grace to bring, more dear 

Than aught that is gone by. 

For so each year is ushered in 

By springing hopes that Heaven would win, 

The same green leaves of Faith ; 
Yet half its moons are hardly past, 
Ere dead the tree and, withered, cast 

Its leaves around our path. 

Where is Thine own baptismal vow. 
Thy blessed Font ? — for Thou didst bow 
Once in Thy meekness there : 

17 



18 Second Sunday after Christmas. 

Alas ! the waters that should spring 
In places dry, no odor fling 
Across the Desert-air. 

And Thy pure way is dim to eyes 
That, blinded in the sacrifi.ce 

(3f Earth's idolatry, 
Wake only to a fitful light, 
When in some ordinances bright 

Thy Church doth worship Thee I 

Light of the blind I the bi'uised reed 
Who wilt not break, — the struggling- seed 

Wilt not pluck quite away ; 
What years have seen us in this pLice, 
Languid yet longing for thy grace, — 

Thy peaceful sun -set ray ! 

Still, like these leaves that hardly cast 
Yon golden hue ere it be past 

And all is sad again, 
So, scarce catch we a single beam 
Where blends not soon a lurid gleani, — 

The storm cloud and the rain. 



The Fivergreen^'^. 19 

O, wilt Thou hear us, Who wast bent 
Down in the hallowed element. 

That we might rise to G-OD, — 
Who, too, wast tempted here below, 
That Thou in Heaven mightst pitying know 

Our wandering, weary road ? 

Thou who hast formed the circling Year, 
The Evergreens, the silent tear 

Wept here continually, — 
Help us who lately sung Thy birth, 
To worship, that each year on earth 

May bring us nearer Thee 1 



Jfirst SHHirag iiihx d^pipljaiig. 



TWILIGHT. 



'Tis true, Gtod sometimes hides His waj^s, 
Seen dim, as when pale starlight plays 

With dubious lustre round uncertain feet ; 
Now, flung back in some crystal gleam, — 
Now, quenched, while giant shadows seem 
To move in outline vast, and dusky phantoms meet. 

Such was the light that twice shone clear 
Upon the Persian Chief's career. 

Gilding his name with strange, prophetic sheen ; 
And such, the Eastern Star that led 
The Magi to the young Child's bed. 
With Chaldee love and faith, that Israel's should have been ! 

Was it to try men, that no light 
Betrayed the hurried Egypt-flight ? 

That over Nazareth, no planet hung ? 
Or that weird shapes of woe and Death, 

(Like phantoms on the star-lit heath) 

Around the aged King, avenging omens flung ? 

20 



Twiliglit. 23 

Say rather, 'twas the shroud once laid 
O'er buried crimes, now upward swayed 

By Memory, that scared his waking dreams ; 
While clouds of incense idol-caught 
(Not richer, what the Wise men brought) 
Swept skyward and obscured that Star's else guiding gleam. 

So is it still, though Gospel-day 
Asserts o'er earlier dawn its sway ; 

But leaving yet our duteous memory 
To wake each year the Gentile-call 
And keep the gladsome Festival 
(Gentiles in race ourselves) of Christ's Epiphany. 

Lo ! less than one short week ago, 
Thus came He ; — not in infant-show 

But glorious — and we owned Him, Lord alone, 
And now, how many hearts to-day 
Envy the Magi's long, dim way — 
How many sadly miss cold Starlight, even, gone ! 

'Tis true, in this our Christian land 
Grim idol-groves no longer stand ; 

With ready skill, swart artizans no more 



22 First Smulay after Ej)iphany. 

Reluctant matter quick compel 
By classic forms to sink or swell 
And grow a visible God, its makers may adore : 

Yet build we, each his inner shrine, 
Deep in the heart where Light Divine 

Scarce pierces the dark, sinful incense-cloud; 
And there Love, Grold, Ambition, Hate 
Are worshipped in such idol-state 
As if Christ hi.d not come, or lay yet in His shroud I 

Alas ! ev'n when devout we build 

A shrine for Christ Himself and yield 

To Him our heart's most costly treasures there. 
There comes a dread Epiphany 
Of God's own fire our work to try : — 
How shall it be with those who Christian Idols rear? 

Lord I \\^ho hast said that not in vain 
. Are souls to seek Thee called — make plain 

'Neath soft star or fierce fire our pathway dim • 
Letting us question Thee in love 
Till in Thy Church, as erst, we prove 
Gv>D hides Himself from none but those who hide from Him. 



ttm)^ SuKlriig dttx ^pplnitg. 



DAY-BREAKING. 



See ! purpled now with coming light, 

How gleam the distant hills I 
And how upon their anxious sight, 
Who dimly watched the weary night. 

The golden prospect fills ! 

While, burning still, the lonely Star 

Showing two nights the way, 
Fast by the Western chambers fiir, 
(God's purpose high, unbid to mar) 

Casts yet a lingering ray. 

And as we look, near yonder grove 

By Jordan's hallowed wave. 
Flies down from Heaven a soft-plumed Dove, 
Pledging His presence and His love, 

Who comes to seek and save : 

23 



24 Second Hnnday after Epiphany. 

While elements averse before. 

Change natures in our sight — 
Type of that mystic rite whose power 
Can light up hearts and hopes that wore 

Only the hue of Night. 

Awake before these Morning beams, 

Church of the living God! 
For thee, the sword no longer gleams, — 
Melted away, like broken dreams, 
The oppressor and his rod : 

And cast off now thy weary chain, 

! Mother, exiled long : 
Lo ! yonder is thy Home again, 
Thy vine-hills clustering o'er the plain, 
Thine old remembered song; 

And shining foot-prints, on the steep, 

Of the Peace-bringers, glow; 
Piercing the clouds that o'er it sleep 
And parting, as of old, the Deep, 
The Exiles' way to show ! 



ir^ Sttiiirag dhx ^pipljaitj. 



THE SIGNAL. 



Fishers of Souls ! arise, 

Called now to early toil; 
With humble thoughts and peaceful guise, 

Enter the Day's turmoil: 
They, soonest for the morn prepared, 
Will ever earliest taste the evening's glad reward ! 

Arise ! — already light 

Grieams from the vine-clad sides 

Of Garmel ; and on Hermon's height 
The sun's full glance abides ; 

Already o'er Tiberias' sea 
The prophet's voice hath waked thrice-darkened Galilee. 

Then waste not hours at home 

In slumber or in sport; 

Lest> in the Evening's coming gloom, 
25 



26 Third Sunday after Epiphany. 

Ye find the Day too sho'-t. 
And see by the last lingering vny 
Your net unmended still, or empty yet of prey. 

Wide as the world is known, 

The Empire of that net; 
Alike, where Lebanon looks down ' 

Upon G-ennesaret, 
As there, where kindred cedars grow, ^ 
Aloiig the Andes' steeps, those monarchs crowned with snow ! 

Far, far, your jotirnies lie : 

Oft shall the sail, first spread 
Where Eastern odors never die. 

When Day's last beam is sped, 
Still breathe along some Western wave 
A faintness of perfume — a fragrance, Morning gave. 

And if it does not calm 

The sea, ye need not fear ; 
Since He, whose presence is all balm, 

Unseen may wander near : 
— The Gruider of the lonely ark 
He, He will stay the flood and save the reeling bark! 



Thp. Signal. 27 

And, when the Sun -set falls 

Upon yon placid Lake^ 
Obedient to your Master's calls, 

Your latest farewell take : 
And seek the quiet shore where dwells 
That goodly fellowship of whom the Scripture tells. 

One Voice o'er all ye hear. 

There 'neatli the olive-shade : 
•'Ho! every one that thirsts, draw near 

The fount ; the price is paid !" 
— Saviour, to reach that Dwelling-place, 
Grladly we rise and leave our Home, our Friends, our Race ! 



' There had been, up to our era, three captivities for Galilee; — by JBen- 
hadac], by N"ebuchadnezzar, and by the Romans. 

~ The Cedars of the Andes, which g-row principally near 'Valparaiso, the 
Antipodes of Capernaum, attain an extraordinary size like those which 
acquired such celebrity on Lebanon, 



Jfonrtlj Sral^ag atttr (gpipljaitu 



THE REST OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 



Like the last beam wlien Day is done, 
The righteous sinks to rest, 

So soft, so calm, so all unknown, 
Into that sombre West ; 
That they who watched with earnest eyt- 
To see its latest flash go by, 

Marked not the place nor time : 

While those who heed not in their mirth 
This summons to the darkening Earth 

(A Saint's departing chime) 

G-ather themselves in hearth and hall, 
Heedless if it pass by, that solemn Funeral ! 

No like to watch that bier have they. 
Or mid the damp vault grope ; 

Who, proud though wearied in their way, 
Chase yet a glimmering Hope 
In some dim Law (on mountains high 

Half read 'neath star-lit mystery, 

28 



The Rest of the Righteous. 29 

Or murmured from the brook 

That bears primeval fragments stil!,) 
Of mystic " Nature's" potent will, 

But cast no upward look 

To that eternal starry Home 
Whose gate the Just man finds fast by the darkling Tomb ! 

Nor io they come who barb the dart 
By which the Soldier fell ; 

— Rejectors of that blessed part 
Our Brother bore so well : 

Who, seared by dread of worldly Iof^i^ 
Or lured with love of golden dross. 

Their Saviour bid away ; 

Or e'en, beneath the gracious word 
By kings and prophets all unheard. 

Their Master seek to slay: 

— What care have they to watch the Dead 
Who, blinded'at noon-4ay, see not the wrath o'er head? 

Yet, Brother, bear thee boldly still ; 

Thou fightest not alone ; 
Since Morning-call lawoke thy will 

God marked thee for His own : 



80 Fowrth Sunday after Epiphany. 

He asks thee but for fearless heart ; 

Thy strength of arm is all His part, — 
Thy prowess all His gift : 

His ear, unheavy, always hears, — 

His hand, unshortened, always cheers 
Those who his war-cry lift; 
When angry foes, like floods, are near, 
Thy safest place is 'neath God's Spirit-banner there I 

'Twas first a Star that met thy gaze, 

Across Night's coronet, 
That gently lit thy wearied ways, 

By thorns and foes beset ; 

Then Day-dawn glittered from on high. 

Till all along the Eastern sky 
A golden flood was poured ; 

And from the mountain-tops there came, 

— All now unrolled. Heaven's oriflamme- 
The early Signal-word : 
" Arise, the Chosen's way prepare, 
Ln heavenly armor clad, your Lord Himself is near !" 

They gathered quickly from their sleep, 
Roused by that heavenly call ; 



The Rest of the Righteous. 31 

Armed, all their soldier-faith to keep, 
To conquer, or to fall : 
And now, the Conflict partly done, 
They miss amid the laurels won 

A fellow-helm to crown ; 

Whose wearer softly lies at rest 
— His Leader's star upon his breast. 

His knightly vizor down ; — 

Henceforth he tastes, in glad release, 
The fruit of lips kept pure, in an eternal Peace ! 



Jfift^ Smikg dhx 6gip|aiig. 



TEE TORCH-BEARERS. 



EiVE times, the swift-footed Weeks 

Vanish since Christ's Star was seen : 
Not to-day, our Mother seeks 

To lix our gaze where it has been 
But, treasuring what the Saviour taught, 
Bids us reflect in turn each beam we caught; 

That so, in brightest Q-ospel-day, ' 
Souls (dazzled else) may learn from us the way. 
And dreariest Heathen-night 
Of hearts untaught, or hard, grow radiant with our light 

Do ye ask what this may mean? 

— ^How earth-walking souls may shed 
Heaven-like brilliance mid a scene 

Below all gloom, and clouds o'erhead? 
— How pilgrims, as they onward press, 



The Torch-Bearers. 33 

Win in oacli trace they leave, new blessedness? — 

Best answer ye may learn from Him 
(Wlio trod, that He might prove, the pathway dim) 
As one day, lingering there, ^ 
He sat Him down and told us who those Blessed are ! 

Say not thus, that all too high 

Their state will our reach elude, — • 
That, too frail, we vainly try 

To grasp the least beatitude : 
Lo, voices o'er Timers solemn Deep 
Their wondrous unison of promise keep, 

First uttered in prophetic strain, ^ 
Then in Diviner tones cauiJit up again, 
Assuring, with kind word. 
A strength beyond our own — an unction from the Lord I 

Was it but a melody 

Idly breathing on the air, — 
Swelling twice, and then to be 

Thenceforward only echoes there? 
Do not the Watchmen it foretold 
Their joyful rounds on walls of Sion hold ? 
And who are those that, white-robed, stand 



34 . Fifth Sundouy after Epiphany. 

To-day before our shrine on either hand. 
But its pledged Ministry, 
And Priests who offer till the last Epiphany ! 

Faint not, then, your task beside ; 
Cast up high the Grospel-way ; 
Lift your banners, far and wide, 

For ensigns to the souls that stray ; 

And, where the road may darkling grow. 

Let your bright torches all the brighter glow : 

So, when Christ comes along one Day 
His work to prove and His reward to pay, 
Yours may be found and given, — 
As Lamps were ye on earth. Stars shall ye grow in Heaven 



The Sermon on the Mount ii the Second Morning Lesson for the Day. 
See Isa. Ixi. 1, and S. Luke, iv. 16 — 21, for this unison. 



Si^ilj Siinl^ctg afttr (Stpipljcnig 



TO-BAY AJVB T0-3I0RR0W. 



■• Soft G-ales that, laden with the balm 
Of Evening, fan my cheek, — 

Say, will ye make the Morrow calm, 
Or troubled ? — wild, or meek ? 

"And you, fast-changing Clouds, that wc.-ir 
Your gracious, sunset forms — 

Say, will ye deck a Morning fair 
Or herald it with storms ?" — 

So spoke my heart as once the West, 

At night-fall, met my gaze ; 
So, fain my self-tormenting breast 

Would pierce the Evening-haze. 

It was not then the breeze that stirr'd 

Nor clouds, half- vocal grown ; 

But, from Gron's oft-repeated word, 

Echoed another tone: 
35 



36 Sixth Sunday after Epiphany. 

" My servant ! care for what thou hast ; 

Dream not of joy or sorrow 
Around the hidden Future cast; 

To-day shapes out To-morrow. 

" Even as thou workest, it will be ; 

The Means and End accord ; 
Who works for Earth, or works for Me, 

Each has his own reward. 

" Think'st thou the gentle lilies plan 
The dews they drink to-night? — 

Can thought of thine prolong a span, 
Thy life-time or thy height ? — 

" Then humble, like those lilies, be ; 

Like them, look upward still ; 
And do and suffer trustfully, 

Waiting upon my will ! 

" It may be that this deepening gloom 
But thicker, darker grows, 

— A shadow that th' expectant Tomb 
Upon each victim, throws. 



To-Day and To-Morrow. 37 

*' If so. what will To-morrow be ? 

— What Life's To-day has been ; 
— Or troubled, dark and sore to see, 

Or of immortal sheen ! 

" New Earth, new Heavens with brighter beam 

Shall break upon thine eyes ; 
Or that dense smoke and lurid gleam 

Whose sharp worm never dies !'' 

Chill fell the tone upon my breast. 

Thicker the Evening-haze, 
Yet a soft ray dwelt in the West 

And, peaceful, met my gaze I 



Suitbcijj CciileJr S^pluag^sima. 



ATHETESIS. 



O, wilt Thou still receive 

The heart that turns to Thee V 

— That, early taught for sin to grieve. 

But frail Thy promise to believe. 

Would yet the Spring-time lost retrieve 
Again Thy face to see. 

LoKD ! Thou hast known its way ; 

Thine eye, all watchful, beamed 
Upon me, when I stooped to pray 
As when, delirious and astray, 
I madly thought to curse the day 

That first upon me gleamed ! 

Thy hand my footsteps kept, 

That, erring, longed to tread 
Where Pleasure's gaudy pageant swept 



Athetesis. • 39 

Or where, entranced, the senses slept 
Until her victims, all unwept, 
Sank lost aiiiong the Dead ! 

N"or less within Thy sight 

The strife that slumDered not. 
When Fancy flung nis robes of light 
O'er fell and field, o'er Day and Night : 
Till, dazzled by the visions bright, 

1 scorned my humble lot. 

And when I, weary, sought 

To take a better part, 
And to the shrine of Science brought 
All eager vows and zeal unbouglit, 
And half-divine her altars thought, — 

My GrOD, Thou readst my heart ! 

Thou hadst it when, at Morn, 

'Twas lifted unto Thee ; 
And, when the Day was older worn, 
Mid Pleasure's lure or Learning's scorn, 
Thou saVst it laboring, though forlorn. 

Again Thy face to see ! 



40 Sunday called Septuagesima. 

Take it then close to Thee 

Yet while I dare to pray: 
Lest, mid my struggles Thine to be, 
Mj lifted heart and bended knee 
And lingering hope, one day L se« 
Mvself a Castaway! 



'Hiikg talk^ Btu^mmK. 



THE SEED OF THE BLESSED. 



" In thy seed shall the Earth be blessed !" 
— Thus was the patriarch addressed, 

]3ut not as if of many, or of all : 

'Twas but a glimpse, a flash before 
The pomp that ages yet shroud o'er, 

Of One whom brethren glad, their Prince shall call. 

Long years, and still that pomp delays : 

But, ever and anon, there plays 
Prophetic light through the dim, dusky vail, 

Intensely bright with promised grace ; 

So that the fainting Syrian's race 
Might well have clung to their exclusive pale. 

And so, nor wisely nor too well, 

They did cling to the ancient spell ; 

Contented with the title of Elect : 

41 



42 Sunday called Sexagesima. 

But proving by scant faithful deed 
Themselves to be of his high seed, 
Whose faith still swam when dearest hopes were wreck'd 

0, fire profane ! 0, hearth accurst ! 

When, one day, doomed to hear the worst, 
The record of God's threats they wildly burn : 

— In stately garments, standing by 

They let the hallowed ashes lie 
And scatter there, in plague-dust to return ! 

From such strange scene, from such sad fate 

'Tis good to turn and see how wait 
God's blessings on the Faithful and his race : 

The sons of Rechab, firm and true. 

Take place above th' untrusting Jew 
And stand, all time, before th' Almighty's face ! 

Needs not to ask what this may mean 

Of princedom high or lot serene, 
Greater or less than Christians now may earn : 

But, since God's dealings ever run 

The one best way, as He is One, 
Strive more the Rule than the Reward to learn. 



The Seed of the Blessed. 4H 

That rule is written all the same 

For us, as erst for Abraham, 
(Our aids far more, our part tar easier done. 

JNow realties to types succeed 

And promises melt in the deed:) 
Believe and do, and Heaven is surely won. 

Not, as though Gron our service needs 

Or pays for serviceable deeds ; 
In pure free-will, His Paradise is given ; 

But Man must fit himself on Earth 

To feel that Paradise's worth — 
Who loves not here, can never live in Heaven 1 

Therefore, when at the Saviour's feet 

The Woman, with her ointment sweet 
And flowing tears and love exceeding, knelt 

She proved, even by such offering slight, 

Her faith in Him before Whose sight 
Glow future fruits ere yet the bud is felt. 

Yet only His sight has such scope. 
If ine would win her heavenly hope, 
Not only must we kneel, like her. and weep 



44- Sunday called Sexagesima. 

But steep our robes of sin and strife 
With odors! of a holy life, 
— Our place among the Blest Seed, thus we keep! 



Sitnkg talk!tr (Jlniirpagesima. 



THE POWER OF UNBELIEF. 



Sad music — that, from prophet-lyre ° 
Out-breathed, went circling, swelling on ; 

Until it reached, in regions higher, 

Aud shook the bolt Man's sin had won ! 

— How like, in all but Heavenly fire, 
To our dark World's complaining tone ! 

We mourn because some City fair 
That, queen-like, sat amid the rest. 

Now lonely lies and, in despair. 

Beholds her Star sinkin the West ; 

— The jewels from her fragrant hair. 

Torn off at some new Bride's behest! 

More plaintive, still, om- loud lament. 

If sinful youth and hardened age 
A yoke of sorrows sharp have bent 

45 



46 Sunday called Qninquagesima. 

For us to wear, — 0, pilgrimage 
The woefuUest! 0, wreath oft sent 
For naught but Death to disengage ! 

Perchance with purer sympathy, 
Because the ways of Sion inouru, 

We weep and half-judge murmaringly 
His wisdom, Who with all has borne ; 

And think that Heaven will fuller be 

The deeper the Church-pavement 's worn. 

Dear Gron, Thou knowest ! — but, though we se€ 

A virtue in external forms. 
There must an inner fitness be 

Ere Love Divine or lis^hts or warms, 
— A wondrous reciprocity, 

Each f-nrried in the other's arms I 

Thou canst work miracles, we know : 
And Thou who causest, dost control 

And. ev'n to human hands, allow -^ 

Strange power to heal and to console ; 

From whence the olden legends grow 

That Man from Heaven. Life's tire once stole! 



The Power of Unbelief. 47 

But yet with measure, sucu supplies: 
Thine own ordained Servants' throng 

Once failed an 111 to exorcise ; 

And it is writ. Thy truths among, 

That Thou Thyself, in human guise, 
Foundst Unbelief for Thee too strong I 



0, Brother, let us hushed remain ; 

Nor murmur that Gron suffers sin ; 
Until we learn the minstrel-strain 

That drives out the strong Foe withiii. 
If Chaist Himself were here again. 

Could He work wonders with His kin ? 



^ The doleful Lamentations of J eremiaH are heard, botLi morning and 
.•venin^, on this Day. 



t Simhig in lent 



THE TEMPTATION. 



'Tis Morning ; o'er the dark-blue sky 
No mist to float — no cloud to fly; 
And, brightly gemmed, the crystal -Deep 
Seems in its Naiad caves to sleep : 

In such an age, in such an hour, 
If thoughtless, be Thou near to bless 

And keep me by Thy watchful power, 
0, Tempted in the "Wilderness ! 

And when, o'er Land and Deep, there streams 
A glorious flood of Noon-day beams ; 
Keep me in forest, cave, or dell, 
Or where the angry waters swell, 

In crowded haunts where men allure, 
Mid foeman's wrath, or friend's caress — 

In each, in all, preserve me pure 
0, Tempted in the Wilderness ! 

48 



The Temptation. 49 

And when the Evening's welcome shade 
Shall find me by some fountain laid ; 
Or, as she shakes her dewy wreath, 
Beholds me bowing unto Death; 

Do Thou be near, my soul to keep 
In that sad hour of sore distress ; 

And unaffrighted let me sleep, 
0;, Tempted in the Wilderness! 

I pray to Thee, for Thou hast known 
My spirit's suiFering, all Thine own; 
And earthly wants and misbelief. 
And this world's glory and its grief, 

And other gods and selfish sway, — 
All these Thyself, did once oppress : 

— Help me to put all these away. 
O, Tempted in the Wilderness ! 



Suoiii) SHiticn] ill lent 



THE TWO VOICES. 



Once, upon a sunny Auttimn day, 
'Neath some ancient forest-trees I lay, 
Watching shadows in their fitful play, 

Seeing how each strove to catch the other; 
And I could but think : How like are yc 
To Man's heart-aims, and how like is he 
(Himself but a shade, as Angels see,) 

To you, fleeting Forms, as if he were your Brother ! 

Then there came, from out the Forest-deep 
Voices as of two that converse keep 
— Sweetly, sadly — while all else did sleep ; 
" Wherefore." breathed the sad One, " should I carry 
Still my golden vase to Adonai? — 
Filled With perfume of devoutest sigh. 
His austere glance oft hath passed it by 

And, for gracious gifts in ansAver, bid me tarry. 

50 



The Two Voices. 51 

*' Often mark I whence my perfumes come ; 

— Out of flowers, alas, that cannot bloom, 
Drooping in an undeserved gloom, 
Or from plants, no dew-drops ever cherish ; — 
Yet, whei* hopefullest to carry back 
Speedily the graces that they lack 

— Showers and sunshine on my grateful track, — 
Rayless all and dewless, they are left to perish I" 

" Murmur not, kindest Spirit 1" — here 
Swelled responsive a new Tone and clear. — 
" Nor thy Maker's ways, most equal, fear ; 

He to each one, as his faith is, giveth ; 

Lo, His Day, — so long-time sought in vain 
By ev'n kings and prophets and, when plain, 
Lighting but the lowliest to His train, — 

Is still Noon or Night, just as each one receiveth, 

" And if lore, the Wise could not attain. 
Grew to be poor, helpless Infants' gain, 

— Who so fit to learn that Martyr-strain ? 
— Who, to wear that bloody Baptism given? 

Ever thus to meekest, humblest hearts 
Taught by Orief to bear their patient parts, 



52 Second Sunday in Lent. 

" More than asked for, the All-G-ood imparts ; 
Though they know it not, lo, Satan falls from Heaven I" 

Then, amid that ancient Forest-deep, 
Died away both Tones, and all did sleep ; 
But the music in my heart I keep, 

Echoing now the sad part, now the other ; 
While its sweetest cadence, still I deem 
(And I since found in Gou's Book the theme, 
Whence I know it was not all a dream,) 

" God without cause does naught : murmur not, my Brother." 



irir Smtkg in %tnt. 



KNOWLEDGE THAT IS NOT A DREAM. 



'Tis true, all speech of Heavenly love, 

Wisdom above mere daily ken, 
Our worldly spirits, fail to move ; 
While still our shattered day-dreams prove 
How much we need to know, how scant our lore has been ! 

If to the Prophet's cell we go, 

Or at pure Priestly lips inquire, — 
How dull our intellect, and slow ! 
Or, if some fevered thoughts do glow 
Within, they are but caught from strange and heathen fire ! 

Such fires as, builded every day 

And nursed at our heart-altars, burn ; 
Shrines for our Learning's proud display 
And on whose horns our hold we lay, 

— Alas, both horn and hold how frail, one Day, to learn ! 

53 



54 Third Sunday in Lent. 

Down to moss-covered Stones we bow ; 

Within whose mass compacted, stands 
(We think) the tale of when and how 
GrOD formed the solid earth below. 
While subtile flame and floods obeyed His plagtic hands. 

And when, beneath those rocks' defence, 

We find some lowly modest Flower, 
We torture it for evidence ; 
The lessons of its innocence 
We hold but parables for some poetic hour. 

And ev'n the Winds, careering free, 

We question on their viewless track — 
Exploring what their norm may be; 
' — They blow but as God lists, while we 
List not of Him whose breath impels or holds them back ! 

More venturous still, some burning soul 

O'erleaps the bounds of this Earth-sphere ; 
And, where unkenn'd of planets roll 
Led by sweet Music's soft control. 
He calls and claims a Stranger to its due career. 



Knowledge that is Not a Dream. 55 

These all are wonders ; and the tale 

That stories them, might well be held 
A Parable whose folded vail 
Encloses in its dusky pale 
But few whose taste or trust is not full soon repelled. 

Yet long and wide, the thick array 

Of listeners to such lofty themes : 
— Youth pauses on its heedless way. 
Age fain its ebbing force would stay, [dreams. 

While Strength and Beauty bow before these Knowledge- 

But Knowledge that is Not a Dream, 

Has scanty pupils for its lot ; 
Christ's truths, as hopeless mysteries, seem 
And Tabor's light, an idle gleam, 
— Elias comes again, and the World knows him not! 

Lord, cleanse me of the desolate pride 
That longs within my heart to dwell 
And watch (a strong man, armed) beside 
Its prey, till, of its empire wide, 
Neglected fasts and prayer too late would break the Spell ! 



Jf0Hrt| Switlrag in %tnt 



THE TWO VISITS. 



Once, in an eager but yet slow procession 

Winding round Olivet, 
With sorrowing heart and glance of deep depression, 

On rudest housings set, 

Came the Redeemer; — not with gorgeous banners 

Of might and victory ; 
Welcomed, 'tis true, with loud, short-lived hosannas 

Changed soon to : Crucify I 

Once more He comes; not for one Race or Nation, 

In patient, weeping love ; 
But sternly searching all through His Creation, 

To punish or approve. 

Who shall portray the terrors of that Visit? — 

Prophets, with hearts inspired 

And lips Heaven-touched, have faintly told what is it, 

— World-dreaded, world-desired. 
56 



The Tioo ' Visits. 57 

Wherewith shall we, His creatures, come before Him ? 

Will clouds of incense hide 
The sinner? Or will victims' blood, shed o'er him, 

God's anger turn aside? 

Can He be won by human intercession 

Even though, (0, saddest dole !) 
We give our jSrst-born for our own transgression. 

The Body for the Soul ? 

Nay, none of these can earn a glance of favor ; 

Only a life aligned 
By His own pattern and His gospel's savor, 

That day, will tolerance find. 

Only the eyes that loved to trace the story 

Of His long-suiFering, 
May bear to gaze, unblinded, on the glory 

Of His World-visiting. 

Only the heart that thrones Christ in its living 

And feels to die is gain. 
May meet Him safely in His sentence-giving 

On the vast Judgment-plain ! 



Jfiftj) ^Hiibag ill l^eiil 



THE ALTAR- FIR. 



PRIEST. 
GrATHER around ; with voices blending, 

Worship beneath this crimsoned shrine. 
With prayers that, incense-like, ascend in '^•: 

May pierce into the Throne Divine I 

CHOIR. 

Brightly, Altar-flame 
Burn on ; thou bearest thy last offering : 
No more, at twilight dim, in any Name 
Shall Minister his trembling Victim bring. 

No more, no more, 
Shall Man with sacrifice or perfumes rare 
Or rich libations at thy foot, implore, 

Amid some splendid hour, his God to spare I 

PRIEST. 

Grather around, the blood that stain eth 
This hallowed plaoe, shall be your aid;* 

58 



The Altar-Fire. 59 

Till gladdening unction that remaineth 
Will make the Trembling, not afraid! 

CHOIR. 

But with a Sacrifice, 
A Fire, a Priest to dwell continually 
[n Heaven, in each one's heart — where, without price, 
Atonement. Hope, Eternal life may be — 

We worship now, 
Trusting that Thou wilt hear our sorrowing prayer ; 
And, as we breathe our sadly-lingering vow. 
Ask Thee to sanctify the Kneelers there I 

PRIEST. 

Grather around ; with faces lowly 

And hearts repenting, bend in prayer : 
And if ye weep, lo I Angels holy 

Each precious drop to Heaven will bear. 

CHOIR. 

And Thou, 0, Victim blest ! 
Who bent'st Thyself from out Thy glorious Heaven 
(Left now Thy starlit place of calmest rest 
And purity) to be for mortals given — 



60 Fifth iSuuday in Lent. 



How in Thy sight 
Ought we to dwell, as still i^emeuiberiuii 
That every breath of Earth, or feeling light 
May damp the flame of Thy pure oiibring I 

PRIEST, 

Draw near; around us all is fading 

Into the gloom of coming Night ; 
Only our Fire has known no shading — 

See, how it leaps in living light! 

CHOIR. 

Burn — as on thee we gaze. 
! Altar-fire, we see the Earth grow dun. 
Be it so e'er: let thy perpetual blaze, 

Hiding the World, give light to worship Him ; 

And when no more 
May the dark veil of falling Night be riven, 
Our GrOD shall make thy Flame, fresh radiance pour 
To guide om- trembling footsteps into Heaven ! 



Mu^R^ \ud-hthxt €uttx. 



THE MABCH OF KEDRON. 



Sign of the Heavenly Year — 
Pledge that the Home is near, 

In whose breath, its children's hearts expand 
When those who fear the Lord, 
Each to each, with pleasant word, 

Often speak and grasp the others' hand. 

GrOD hears each warm salute; 

God marks each greeting mute; 
In His Book, all such are written down : 

Tears, gems are counted there — 

Every smile, a setting rare 
Laid before Him for His jewelled crown ! 

Dost thou, then, ask if soon 
Will that high count be done, 
Soul! bewildered in Earth's sensuous laws?— 

61 ■ 



62 Sunday next-before Easter. 

GrOD waits to publish it, 
But for Man to grow more nt \ 
Each love-pulse the moment, nearer draws I 

So it proved long ago 

When that dense march and slow 

Circled Olivet and Kedron passed ; 
Each warm Hosanna there, 
Each devout Palm-bearer's prayer. 

Served the lingering Easter-day to haste. 

So can It prove to-day, 
If we will only lay 
At Christ's feet some cast-ofF cloak of sin : 

— Such a self-victory, 
(Though no human eyes \\\^j see) 

Palms for us to bear in Heaven , doth win ; 

And by all springing hopes, 

— Each longing wish that droops 
Till the Sun of righteousness arise, — 

We (though not in the flesh) 
Follow Christ's own march afresh 
And iiTow meet to earn His sacrifice 1 



^mUX'Mr^. 



THE METURN OF THE LEAF. 



It was the Winter-time, 

When the sweet Aqgel-chime * 
Stole o'er the Chaldee shepherds' slumberous sen^e ; 

Ringing out, full and clear, 

The burden of its cheer : 
•' Grlory to God on high ; good will to men from thence v' 

— A chant that, taught then from above, 
Hath ever since, sublime, intoned the Church's love I 

Fit was it that, bedight 

In dress of snowy white, 
The Earth, all bride-like, should receive her Lord : 

Nor strange, a wintry chill 

Her very breath should fill 

Waiting so long for His delayed, prophetic word. 

Alas, all help for her was o'er, 

Unless the Woman-born should her lost peace restore ! 

63 



64 Easter-Day. 

Three decades, hushed, pass by ; 

Three years of ministry, 
Of wonders, wisdom, costliest love forlorn ; 

Three days of mortal gloom 

In the mysterious Tomb ; '■ 
Ere He may, glowing, rise on the true Bridal-morn, ' 

— Ere consummated the emprize 
That to our Manhood frail, the Godhead's Self allies. 

E'er since, on that blest Day 

G-lows now a vernal ray, 
As if to mark a new Creation's Spring ; 

Earth, clad in loveliest flowers 

All fragrant with soft showers, 
Spreads her green, jewelled carpet for her Lord and King; 

While, to the upward-looking eye, 
New Hope, new Grace, new Life shine in the open sky. 

Therefore, each rolling year, 

The withered leaves and sere 
That icy Christmas scatters, crisped and torn, 

Wander till Easter comes ; 

When in their ancient homes 
And on old forest-boughs, they find themselves new-born, 



The Return of the Leaf. 65 

— Type, how the Child of Virgin-wuiub, 
The grieved and sorrowing Man. rose radiant from the Tomb ! 

Lo ! ere the morning breaks. 

Night hangs in thickest flakes 
Upon the curtain of th' expectant East ; 

Just as our Lenten cloud 

And gloomier Sabbath-shroud 
And Friday-cross precede our glorious Paschal-feast, 

While yet we struggle here on Earth, 
Mid varying light and shade, for our own Easter-birth ! 

Sure as that sad Week's flight 

Leads to glad, Easter light ; 
Sure as green leaves, each year, the boughs do hide ; 

Sure as the Christmas-snow 

Melts ere the March-winds blow, 
Or as the hue and breath of flowers become a Bride ; — 

Our fasts and chill and woe and Night, 
Wrapped in the Saviour's shroud, shall turn to endless Light ! 



Jfirst Smtkg after (Brnkx. 



THE LAUNCH OF THE WRECK. 



Twice a thousand years and more 
Had flung their wrecks along Time's shore; 
And Earth-pilgrims day by day, 
Sank wearied, worn-out, by the way 
— Happy, if where wild-flowers wave 
They found some calm, love-tended grave ; 
But no echo swelled the strain 

That buried Forms should live again [the Main ! 

— That those wrecked Ships once more should, gallant, plough 

Dimmer, for each yoiinger year, 
Glows that bright, early truth and clear; 
Fewer, from the Forest-deep 
Where patriarchal whispers sleep. 
Float the crisp and withered leayes; 
And, stronger as this World-life heaves, 
Fkinter flows Tradition's stream ; 
Till Eden-knowledge. grew- a dream 

And Man forgot (or worse) his high ancestral theme. 

66 



The Launcli of the Wreck. 67 

Where, :it last, was that lost theme 
•Again reyivod ? And whence the gleam 
O'er sad sej)ulchres and urns, 
That now in Christian church-yards burns 
With a ray so pure, profound ? — 
It was not in old, classic ground ; 
Not where Tempo's lovely vale 
Was yearly sad with Orphic wail : 
N'or where Dodona kept her doves and priestess pale ; 



Nor e'en whence those sweet doves flew 
— That olden clime of tales half true. — 
Where a dim, religious Art 
Shewed but its mysteries in part, 
Where the darksome Pyramid 
The patriarchal doctrine hid, 
And the Statue-music weird 
That Thebes, night and morning, heard, 
No answering chord of Hope in human bosoms stirred! 



But in lowly Palestine — 

When Jewish glories ceased to shine, 

And GtOd's Temple, oft profaned. 



68 First Sunday after Easter, 

For but one offering more remained ; 
When prophetic pledge must be 
Or false or all reality — - 
Waked at last a murmur low, 
A Woman's tone, lialf-joy, half-woe, 
Breathing a wondrous tale to deadened hearts and slow 



Twice, the sad Passover-moon, 
With earliest Even climbing soon 
Olivet, the livelong night 
Had watched how Angel-servants bright 
Tended a new Tomb with tears. 
Where lay awhile their Lord and hers ; 
Till His mystic slumber o'er, 
He came forth to the light once more 
4nd taught one gentle heart to wonder and adore ! 



Ever since, that heart's glad creed: 
'■' Christ from the dead is risen indeed" 
— Blending with revealed lore, 
The World had lost or scorned before — 
Gathers, as each day sweeps by, 
Fresh votaries to swell the cry; 



The Laundi of the Wreck. 69 

While, stored in the holiest place 
Of Christ's own sacramental grace, 
Our graves and altars both, it crowns with life and prace. 



First-fruits of the souls that slept — 
Pledge that our bodies shall be kept 
Like Thine own to rise, whose food 
Is Thy mysterious flesh and blood — 
Teach us, calm, to leave dear friends 
To strange repose, as this life ends ; 
Hearing all the while this strain 
'• Those Forms, so still, shall breathe again ; 
Those wrecked Life-barks once more shall, gallant, plough 

the Main !" 



Stcoiib §iiiibag lifter €mhx. 



THE HEALING OF EPHBAUr. 



Sweet promise to the lialf-learned, stricken heart 

That trembles o'er its part; 
Sweet comfort to the wandering souls that mourn 

And long but to return : 
"In Me, their help the needy ones shall find; 
In Me, the fatherless a Father kind !" 

Such, the soft accents to Thine elder Race 

Of Thine unwearied grace; 
Such were the tones that long-sought Ephraim heard 

In Thy prophetic word, 
Breathed then in vain along his desolate way, 
But echoing yet in Christian ears to-day. 

Be ours, to love its music and to learn 

Each close, each thrilling turn 

That, stronger than old Orpheus' fabled strain, 

•70 



The Healiiuj of Ephraim. 71 

Tells of the Dead again 
Recalled from more than an earth-covered grave, 
Ransomed by Qne who died that He might save! 

But if those gladdening airs inspired, should prove 

Too lofty for our love, 
(While, all the time, our heart reluctant owns 

The sway of earthlier tones) 
Soon as their cadences unheeded die, 
A sterner strain and wailings sad swell higli. 

Lo! o'er the desert of the Arab horde. 
The wild wind of the Lord 

— The. whistling, mortal wind — sweeps as of old 

Till Ephraim' s sin be told, 

— His hidden sin, he thought no more to see, 

— His bound up, yet disclosed, iniquity. 

So sweeps and searches still a breath from Him, 

Each secret shrine and dim ; 
So glare, like leopards' on their evening-prey, 

Eyes on our wilful way: 
While ev'n the King who else would guard our path, 
(An angry gift) is crucified in wrath ! 



I iSecond Sunday after Easter. 

Yet where He sits, the First-born from the dead, 

He waits His grace to shed 
O'er each sad heart, o'er all returning feet : 

And if with some He meet . 
Too lame for aught but at His door to sit, 
— He heals and strengthens them to enter it. 

Not such as these, alone, His kindness prove ; 

But instant in His love. 
By prophets, miracles and providence 

And inward stricken sense, 
He calls us ever lamb-like to the fold 
And pledges His own blood all safe to hold 

Well may we treasure such a promised Kest, 
So called and healed and blest; 

Well ma}^ our echoing hearts take up again 
That sweetest prophet strain : 

" From Him their fruit, the barren ones shall find ; 

In Him, the fatherless a Father kind !" 



CfjirStr Suiting tdhx (Bukx: 



TEH CHUBCH IN THE WILDERNESS, 



A little while ! — Say, have we learned 

The words' full meaning, yet? 
Or is not rather to be earned 
A lesson true that hidden burned 
But fraught, if onlj^ rightly turned, 
Willi gracious pledge and sweet? 

9 

More gracious for this cloudy day 
That wraps our Desoi-t-church ; 

Closing to numan skill her wa^^ 

Veiling their tault who from her stray 

Or listless far off rather stay 
Than tor her altar search ! 

Saviour, for three sad troubled days 

Thine early servants lost 
The lustre of Thy wondrous ways, 



74 Third Sunday after Easter. 

Till Easter blest their tear-dimmed gaze .; 
Then all was dark till the displays 
Of fiery Pentecost. 

80 do thy Servants find it still : 

— First called to follow Thf*e 
By some heart-piercing tone, their will 
Half- won, if worldly — bright hopes fill 
The horizon of their hopes, until 
The bridal moments flee. 

A little while — and all is dark: 

Deserted all, and^^lone; 
Nor welcomes the dim Morn, the lark: 
A cloud envelopes shrine and ark ; 
Watching for Thee, we only mark 
, A cold and sealed stone I 

A little while — if patient there 
And prayerful, comes again 

The Bridegroom with His dewy hair 

And fragrant as the lilies are ; 

While o'er the Tomb, lo, angels care 
And shew where He has lain ! 



The Church in the Wilderness. 75 

More plainly still Thy Church may ween 

The truth of this dim word; 
A little while since all has been 
Bright as the Morn from mountains seen, 
— Now, dreary shadows come between 

Her children and their Lord : 

A little while — the shadow breaks 

Before a ray of Thine ; 
The gloomy Mght to glad Day wakes ;. 
The lark his hymn up with him takes ; 
And the fresh Sun more brilliant makes 

Her services and shrine. 

]>e trustful, then, Mother dear; 

This pledge to thy heart press ; 
A little while — and every fear 
Shall, like a sea-mist, disappear 
And the Beloved Himself be near 

Thee in the Wilderness ! 



J|0urtj) ,§unhig after ^uhx. 



LOSS AND GAIN. 



•• Lord, only one short, hurried Moon 
Since Ave have known all ; and so soon, 

Lose we Thy light again ? 
Alas, before is warmed the love 
Or roused the strength, that we must prove 

Ere lit to join Thy martyr-train ! 

'' We trusted, until that sad Day 
Wherein the World-prince held wild sway. 

To see Thee on Thy Throne ; 
Now, better taught yet clinging still 
To fancies fond and worldly will, 

Master, leave us not alone !" 
• 
So sighed, one time, Thy faithful few; — 
Reluctant lest aught might renew 

Some scene of shuddering gloom; 

76 



Loss and . Gain. 

Or, dazzled by Thine Easter-light, 
Misjudging in their dubious sight 

The path of toil to lead them home. 

So, to this day, the heart late-won, 
Just taught to joy at Easter-dawn, 

Sighs as if losing Thee, 
When its first raptured feelings fade ; 
And back again — now Sun, now shade — 

Comes Earth-life's stern reality I 

True, it has gone in mourning weed — 
True, it has known Thee risen indeed ; 

But a dim mystery 
Still veils the sense that would pierce higher. 
And waits for Pentecostal fire 

Or to consume, or purify. 

Thou wo'rk'st by an all-perfect plan ; 
'Twas not enough for sinful Man 

To be redeemed, alone, 
But to be fit for Heaven, beside 
And flame baptized and sanctified, 

Here, ev'n on Earth, be all Thine own ! 



I i 



78 Fourth Sunday after Easter. 

< 
Therefore, the gracious answer came, 
(To every Christian heart the same 

And kind as we are weak) 
" My servants ! my sharp task is done ; 
Your places that my Cross has won 

For you in Heaven, yourselves must seek. 

" I go those places to prepare : 

Ye gain them but by fast and prayer, 

By work and vigil, here; 
And lest your nature, all too frail 
For such high aim, at last might fail, 

T send thence a new Comforter !" 

LoKD ! thanks for that sweet, gentle tone 
Whose music, if else all alone. 

Keeps us glad company. 
And softens, if it cannot solve. 
The doubt some dreary days evolve, 

How we can gain by losing Thee ! 



JfiftI] Swnkg after ^mttx. 



THE PRINCEDOM OF ISRAIIL. 



Bright clouds and softest showers — 

Low sounds of fragrant rain 
Whose drops, the Angels of the Flowers 

Perfume, as falls the giitteriDg train — 
Ye fitly mark the gracious Day [stay! 

When the Church reads, how long Gtod's heavenly dews can 

Not, for the broken vows, 

Oft pledged, forgotten still ; 
Not, for the idol-fire that glows 

Upon each lonely, tree-crowned hill ; 
Doth He* forsake His Israel 
For whom in morning-mist, the wondrous manna fell ! 

The wild again shall bloom, 

As erst the prophet sang ; 

And, raid the vine-leaves' deepening gloom 
•79 



80 Fifth Sunday after Easter, 

The blushing fruit shall clustering hang: 
Ev'n Noon-tide glows with tempered light, ^ 

For burning Day still drinks the chalice of the Night. 

Though Horeb flows no more 

Yet, mid the desert-sand 
Where Sorek's ripples seek the shore, 

Beneath the grace that Philip's hand 
On the bright element bestows, 
If not the Ethiop's skin, his soul less dusky grows ! 

Then, promised, gifts begun 

On Meroe to gleam ; 
And Israel's light, dark Sheba's son 

Saw brighten to a purer beam ; 
While, too, Samaria's sorcerer. 
Touched by Apostles' hands, learned what his foul rites were. 

Then, from the sombre Past, 
Intoned a Voice fulfilled : — 
, " One day, and eager crowds shall haste, 
On Israel's Hope their own to build ; 
Ten men, the long-scorned Jew shall see 
Seizing his skirt and glad, with him to company I" 



The Princedom of Israel. 81 

Is this so marvellous, 

0, wise man of the Earth ? ^ " 

— Tliat GrOD should not be like to us 
Whose minds are changing frora our birth, 

Who one day love what next we hate, — 
False as the fitful breeze, wayward as misnamed Fate V 

But He is ever One ; 

Unchangeable, His ways : 
From His star-lighted, silent throne 

One glance. Eternity surveys ; 
No faded Past or Future dim 
Unrolls its page, but all is Present aye for Him : 

Therefore the Princedom high, 

Once given to Israel, 
Survives his sad Captivity 

That scattered, fleetinij; records tell ; 

— 'Tis but his own reluctant will 

That leaves his Land a waste, his Home deserted still , 



Hitkg after %BttMim. 



THE ACOLYTES. 



With Thee in life ! — Thine eye benign upon us, — 
Thy gentle hand, throughout the slippery way, — 

Thy voice, when eager foes had else undone us 
Or perils worn, to turn them from, their prey 
And guard us still unharmed amid the strife : — 
Keep us with Thee in Life ! . 

With Thee in heart ! — thus pure and calm and lowly, 
To watch Thee through Thy human pilgrimage ; 

To trace Thee from Thy Starlit cradle holy, 

Thro' tempted youth and sinless Manhood's age. 
To the last, incommunicable part : — 

Keep us with Thee in Heart ! 

With Thee in death ! — Life's feverish pulses over, 

Stilled in the darkness of our agony ; 

82 



The Acolytes. 83 

Then, as of old, ! our lost souls' best Lover, 
In the dim Garden came to comfort Thee 
An Angel-watcher of Thy fainting breath — 
So strengthen us in Death ! 

And when that Hour is past, though angel-bidden 

We timid linger near Thy golden gate, 
Wilt Thou be there in Whom our hojDO was hidden 

To take within the souls that trembling wait ? 

— Then, blest beyond all glorious presage given, 
Keep us with Thee in peaven ! 



IE|itsuiikg. 



THE NEW SINAI. 



Ye, who would walk in wliite one Day 
Before the Lamb, now put your white robes on ; 

And, since so far we bear to stray 
From habits, hallowed in the times by-gone. 

And vestiaries hold no more 

The garments new-baptized ones wore, — 

Wear them at least upon your heart ; 

Unspotted, pure in every part ■, 

And fit, as aught of ours can claim, 
To bear and to reflect the Pentecostal flame I 

For so, when long, long years ago 
This Day grew pale at Sinai's awful glare 

And darkness visible below 
While ghostly trumpets swelled and echoed there- 

Through all the wandering Host redeemed, 

An unstained vesture brightly gleamed ; 

84 



The New Sinai. 

Proving, thus far, obedienco 
' To free themselves from stains of sense 
And wilful act, ere they drew nigh 
To gaze on signs that showed their Maker's purity ! 

'Tis true, those signs are borne no more, 
Mid gloom and brilliance struggling, to our sight; 

Nor aching eyes, fain to explore. 

Find darkness only in th' excessive light: 

Nor rushing winds at first swell liieh, 

> 
Then into fearful silence sigh : 

While milder, lambent flames illuiiic 

Pale faces in an upper room : — 

But not less earnest nor less true. 

The tokens still that pledge God's own descent aiicu .' 

And if no visible crowns of iii-e 
Mark the Elect; yet viewless still they dwell 

Within our hearts and there inspire 
A power and peace, no gift of tongues could tell ; 
The marvels that shone on the path 
And won the way of earlier Faith, 
Have ceased ; but o'er the sin-sick soul 
Our faith still wields as strong control ; 



86 Whitsunday. 

And, just as sure as erst, may men 
Take knowledge of our walk who have with Jesus been. 

And though not now, mid light intense 
And mighty sound or on soft dove-like wings, 

The Spirit comes, yet Christian penitence 
As real finds His wondrous visitings ; 
And, as of old declared, His grace 
Waits for us in the Holy place 
(The Church) where God His name has set, 
Choosing there chiefly to be met, 
And promising each worshipper 
In sacramental signs to send the Comforter ! 

Would you, then, unconsumed abide 
That Real Presence, not less grieved and lost 

By sin of ours at Whitsuntide 
Than of the Tribes or Twelve at Pentecost? 

— Leave all your frailties f^ behind : 

Only your love and sorrow find 

Forbearance in His mercy's store. 

Who judges tenderly the poor, 
Who makes all wild heart-throbbings cease 
And teaches those He loves, the secret of His Peace! 






EDEN AND GETMSEMANE. 



Dark, formless, void, was the unregioned space; 
No wave to stamp, no sliore to wear a trace; 
Till, moving o'er the dreary waters' face, 

GtOd's Spirit waked the echo of His Light. 

Then, with that pulse, Time's Ocean dim grew bright 

And rolling worlds began their mystic flight ! 

Then sprang, each instant, up some beauty new; 

Each Day declining lingered still to view 

Some just-born grace — more gracious for the dew 

That pensive Night shed o'er each lineament : 
From light and shade and scents and music blent 

Harmoniously, a Heavenward worship went. 

SI 



] Trinity /Sunday. 

With such fair scene, the Earth Man's vision blest 
(The wondrous Week not yet quite sunk in rest) 
What time — God's image outwardly imprest, 

Within, a living Soul by God's own breath, 
And monarch of all moving things beneath, — 
He trod at first Euphrates' flowery heath. 

Then came an hour of bitter change for all. 
The Angels wept (if ever sad) Man's Fall ; 
Earth, cursed for him, wore now a dreary pall : 

Her loveliest flowers that wooed his touch before. 
Now thorns, to guard them, from his dalliance, bore — 
Her fruits demand his sweat and tears, and more ! 

If dark the Earth, his heart was yet more drear. 
Within, Lust, Falsehood, Shame, Remorse, and Fear: 
Nought but a promise dim, God left to cheer 

His sinking soul that, when his sand was run 
And his worn frame a resting-place had won 
In kindred dust, his punishment was done ! 



Eden and Gethsemdne. 89 

Yet not unmixed with pangs this pledge he bears ; 
For to his gaze, made prescient through long years, 
A bloodstained mount with Crosses three appears : 

One — true type of the Race, — hangs hopeless there ; 
Another's pale lips just can move in prayer 

— That He may save, One deigns their woe to shai-e ! 

Hence came it that from patriarchal lore 
Th^ mystic sign, the Cross, its meaning wore 
That Egypt gives it — Endless life in store ! "^ 

And hence, for ages, Heaven-taught faith relied 
On symbols that the coming Truth did hide : 

— Each priest-slain Lamb showed forth the Crucified ! 

Then, when the mystery of Sin was done 

And patient Faith its lingering pledge had won, 

A new Creation on the Earth begun : 

For, woman-born, Thou cam'st in human guise 

— With Woman's softness, Man's infirmities — 
To win back our first Father's Paradise. 



90 , Trinity Sunday. 

In every trait, Thou fonght'st his conflict o'er : 
And, what no living Soul could do before, 
Thy quickening Spirit did achieve and more I 

So, in a (jrarden, Thou didst strive anew, 
(Like where the fatal tree of Knowledge grew) 
But pluck'dst the tree of Life, Redeemer, too ! 

We may not follow farther on the path 

(Too weak our wishes or too faint our faith) 

That led Thee through the thronging realms of Death 

To visit and console th' expectant band 

Of souls that erst, in many a distant land. 

Thro' veils and shadows, knew and loved Thy hand. 

The wondrous plan was still not all complete. 

» 

To make us for the purchased glory meet, 
We, too, must pluck the tree of Life and eat ! 

Therefore, at Pentecost, in fire came down 
The Spirit with His grace the Work to crown 
And help the hearts He wants to make His own. 



Eden and Gethsemane. 91 

Then were fulfilled strange, ancient types and dim ; — 
The fire that burnt the Victim's quivering limb 
And Heavenward bore it, but prefigured Him ; 

The guiding Dove sent from the lonely Ark, — 

The auguries that, through world-ages dark. 

Men thought in wayward flight of birds, to mark: — 

These all were glimpses of Thy coming, Lokd; 
While reverent hearts, but unread in Thy Word, 
The Shadow for the Substance oft.adorfid. 

Ah ! better tnis than the cold clmie and drear 
In which they dwell who will not own Thee here 
But scorn Thee in half-hardihood, half-fear. 

Let no such phantasms, Lord, our souls benight: 
*But let us, walking in Thy Grospel-light, 
Confess Thee One in Truth and Love and Might; 

And, holding by Thy Church's teaching clear 
E'er since that upper chan^ber shook with fear, 
Trace how Thy Three-fold energies appear ! 



92 Trinity Sunday. 

Therefore, to-day, we keep the Festival 
Whereto bright Pentecost and Easter call ; 
And, though no human thought may scale it all. 

We, reverent, adore the Mystery 

Of Triune Being and the Eternal see 

Ckeatoe, Saviour, Comforter, in Thee! 



^ And not Egypt only, but the Chosen Race itself. It is agreed that 
the saving mark seen in the vision of the Prophet (Ezek. ix. 4.) was the* 
sacred Tau, — a, letter that, in the prae-Ezra-ic chirogranhy of the Hebrews, 
was itself a Cross. 



JfirBt Swirag rIUx Criiiitg. 



SPIRIT- VISITINGS. 



Low tones that on the Night-wind's sigh 
So faintly through the casement creep, 

Yet fearfully distinct and nigh 

For wakeful care or dreamless sleep, — 

Are ye but fancies of the brain, ' 

Or musio of a Spirit-train? — 

Sometimes, so clear and known as well 
(Those Voices of long-parted Friends) 

As if those Friends had come to tel] 
The secrets that the Tomb defends ; 

And then again, so strange and sweet 

As nought on Earth our ears could meet ! 

And sopjetimes, too, when all is still 

And slumber wraps the house around^ 

Come Shapes of those who used to fill 
93 



94 First Sunday after Trinity. 

With light and love, the Homestead's boand ; 
- — Silent, with earnest-gleaming eyes 
That half light up Death's mysteries ! 

Float these from the dim, shadowy realm 
That overlooks the mournful Past, 

To warn us of the woes that whelm 

Souls (like the Rich man's) lost at lasr? — 

Or grow they but from hues that lie. 

Self-blending, in our memory? 

Ah I none can tell ; for since the dav 
Man, serpent-led, preferred to knoio 

More than in Paradise to stay, — 
Less sapient all our senses grow, 

And more confined and earthlier, 

The orbit of our knowledge-sphere. 

God, seen at no time, on His Throne 
Sits, dark with an excessive light : 

His angels, elder errands done. 

Wing now to Earth no visible fliirht 

Nor help t' unwrap from its dim veil 

The grey Past or the Future pale. 



Spirit- Visiting s. 95 

Only His Word is with us yet, 

A Witness and a Teaclier true ; 
Only His Church is o'er us set, 

With light our dark souls to imbue 
And with His Sacraments' avail, 
To pledge the cure of natures frail. ' 

Tf these serve not, then all in vain 
Will ghostlier warnings be and dread; 

No pile Face or sad Voice again, 

Returning with the white-clothed Dead, 

No midnight Spirit -visitings, 

Will break the chain. Earth o' er us flings ! 



ttm^a S)mhK^ Rittx Crinitg. 



THE THREE PIGTUBES. 



Three changing Pictures in the glass 

Of GtOd's dim Providence ! 
Three Figures, beckoning as they pass, 
Ere melting in the vapory mass 
That hides, more than with triple brass. 

Time's march from our frail sense ! 

Not ours, to know the full extent 

Of such portentous Forms ; 
We can but watch in wonderment 
The awful brilliance that, unspent, 
(Though age to age a veil has lent) 

Still all the foreground warms. 

"W^e can but gaze, now, where the glow 

Of the descending Sun 

Leaves pleasant shadows, cool and low, 

There where young trees green branches throw ; 

While yonder, through the mist, God's Bow 

Makes sky and earth but one ! 
96 



The Three Pictures. 97 

Ev'n as we look, a change comes o'er 

That so delicious scene ; 
The irised hues that, just before, 
Both Heaven's arch and the rain-drops wore, 
Eade, and a twilight stern and hoar 

Unfolds its dreary screen ! 

Deeper and deeper falls the Night ; 

TiL tiio lone Worshipper — 
Who sank in slumber 'neath the light 
Of countless stars that pledged both Might 
And Lov( , — wakes shuddering, in affright, 

At the strange darkness there. 

Once more the Canvass weird outpours 

Fresh rays; — long since, the Sun 
Has heard the first call of the flowers 
And visits now their mid-day bowers ; 
While, round, the dark-haired Evening-hours 

His chariot wait upon ! 

Who on the house-top lingering kneels, 

As that great sheet unrolls? 
While half-taught Faith the warrant steals 



Second Sunday after Trinity. 

From what the Vision plain reveals 
And what the possible Dream conceals 

— GtGd's Ark for human souls. 

If, fainter than to Patriarch's gaze 

Or to Apostle's eye, 
Those visions loom in our late days ; 
At least for us a lustre plays 
(Lit up from emblems of GtOd'h w^yO 

Their earlier times deny. 

The Rain-bow blazons in the cloud 

Our Baptism's covenant ; 
The Mount, where Abram darkly bowed, 
Is Calvary where the Saviour stood ; 
The Church holds still the mystic Shroud - 

Room there for all, to grant ! 

Such symbols she would have us store, 

— Our Mother, tender, true ; 
Therefore, each day, she gleans them o'er, 
Repeating from her elder lore 

And tripling for our sakes (and more) 
Their ancient strength, anew ! 



Cljirlj Snitkg Klin Criiiitn. 



THE PILGRIMS IN EGYPT. 



As in some Day whose morning wakes 
Mid sullen clouds or angry showers ; 

But, older grown, at length it breaks 
The curtain of its early hours 
And, looking from its throne of light, 
Grilds all its Western pathway bright 
— Throughout obeying laws, the great Creator makes 

So doth Thy Church, Lord, obey 
The hidden plans Thyself hast laid ; 

As well when, on a troubled Day, 

Ten brethren-hands were scarcely staid 
From brother's blood as when, subdued. 
Before their Victim, late, they stood, 
More sorrowful than he, in anxious guilt to pray. 

« 

Thou did'st o'errule their ^nger rude, 

When changeful Reuben's kindlier aim 
99 



100 Third Sunday after Trinity. 

And Midian's merchant-pilgrim brood, 
As agents in Thy purpose, came ; 
The sad old man's bereaved sigh 
Thou sufferedst, for the time was nigh 
When near his son, long lost and loving, Israel stood ! 

We solve not all Thy deep intent : 
We see a mighty Empire saved, 

And Thine elect Race strangely sent 
To bondage, that there might be graved 
For the whole world, the wondrous proof 
Of Love and Power in their behoof, 
While sternest traits of wrath and softest gleams are blent! 

We see Thy promise there made true, 
Unhastened for long suffering years : 

So, later, when from a wild crew 
A Child, the Virgin-mother bears 
To the same land. Thy time to bide — 
Not less Thy pledge is verified 
And out of Egypt^ Thou did'st bring Thine own Son, too ! 

And when this exiled §on (more high 
Than Joseph") not one realm or race 



The Pilgrims in Egypt. 101 

But mankind, in His ministry, 

Should save and keep with Heavenly grace — 
* Dark storms of woe and violence 

Scattered the precious seedlings, whence 
The Christian harvest springs around us, far and nigh. 

So, when the days of peril come 

Upon the Church, as long foretold, 
(Perhaps now here, amid our gloom 

Of zeal deceived and love grown cold) — 
Not less we deem, that promised light 
Will gild her Western pathway bright 
And with calm, clearest ray her latest hours, illume ! 



Jourtj) Smikg din Crinitij, 



THE SLEEP-WALKERS. 



O, SOREST symptom of disease 

When sick-men know it not ! 

0, words, the warmest hearts to freeze : 
" His own sin he forgot !" 

Yet word and symptom oft we meet 
In our world-pilgrimage ; 

Forgetfulness and self-deoeit 
Crowd ev'n a hermitage. 

Like men who walk forth in their sleep, 
Pursuing some fond dream, 

Unreasoned if they smile or weep — 
Must we, poor wanderers, seem 

To friendly Spirit-ministers 

Who watch in that high sphere, 

Where every faintest breath that stirs 

Our thoughtless bosom here, 
102 



The Sleep- Walkers. 103 

Goes widening on ; — with, each new ray, 

A changeless verdict shown 
For GrOD to read — for us, one day, 

To tremble as we own ! 

If one, more wakeful than the rest 
In his sleep-walking, seems: 
Not on himself he tries the test, 
]5ut on his fellows' dreams. 

Not thankful for a little light 

To lead him calmly home, 
He but employs his feeble sight 

To mark how others roam. 

Blind leaders of the blind! — how true 

His sentence, Who knew all 
And loved all even as He knew ! 

— What wonder if we fall? 

Nought but a spirit like Thine own, 

Redeemer! — love, like Thine 
— To whisper oft, with pitying tone, 

"My brother's fall is mine" — 



104 Fourth Sunday after Trinity. 

Can liolcl our frailty and convert 

Our dimness into Day, 
Where we may see our true desert, 

Our thankless, devious way ; 

Where we may see the blind and lame 
Cared for and cured by Thee, 

— Love-gifts for all in want or shame, 

All, but the Pharisee ! 

Lord, for the highest of these gifts, 
Help us, each hour, to pray, 

— The Charity that, mild, ev'n lifts 

Harsh brethren on their way; 

That beareth all things and forbears 

To judge another's sin ; 
And, shrinking in itself, still hears 

A gentle voice within : 

" My Servant ! thine own sickness learn ; 

Seek cure before the Even • 
Be just, and thou shalt justice earn ; 

Forgive and be forgiven !" 



Jfiftlj Snukg after Criiiitg, 



TEE FISHERS. 



" All night was cast the weary net 
In vain ; for, emjDty, lightly yet 

Its mesh obeys the hand : 
And sickened hope and toil contend 
Our strength and courage, both, to bend 

And make us yearn for land : 

'' Yet, at Thy word, we will again 
Launch out the net upon the main :" — 

So did the Fisher speak : 
So speaks the Church in mournful tone ; 
And, from each praying heart alone, 

So does its grief outbreak : 

In twilight dim, at midnight still. 

In gloamy vale, on cloud-capped hill, 

Under Thy Temple-shade, — 
105 



106 Fiftli Sunday after Trinity. 

Have been poured out, with fainting breath, 
Thoughts seeking Thee, and Prayer and Faith 
Fast by Thine altar laid. 

In the pin-e Deep of Thine own word 

— • O'er whose calm flice might best be heard 

Whispers of comfort nigh - — 
Our bark hath been ; its weary road, 
Our vows, like nets, cast out abroad. 

Have surely met Thine eye. 

Yet, barren all, our net doth prove 
(Though woven cords of truest love) 

No weight of new-felt grace : 
And mid the thick desponding gloom, 
No morning-light breaks on our home, 

No ray reveals Thy face : 

Nor eddying wave that hurries past 

— Laden with cares, waked by Life's blast — 

(Fit emblem this, and wise) 
Yet lingering long enough to show. 
Though turbid, that there gleams below 

The very prey we prize. 



The Fishers. 107 

All night we toil ; when, when, GtOd. 
Shall we take up our lightsome load 

For which we gladly bend? 
When shall some lonely, earnest prayer, 
Dove-like sent forth, returning bear 

Blessings that Thou dost send ? 

In Thine own time ! — still will we spread, 
All darkling though it be and dread, 

Our prayers before Thy shrine ; 
Breathing but this, Lord, to Thee 
— Where'er Thy holy steps we see, 

To follow and be Thine! 



idj) .Suiiia^) iilhx Criiiitg. 



NATURE AND REVELATION. 



Cold falls the snow on some November day ; 

Chill blows the breeze that clears the Morning's way ; 

But both, in kindness sent: — 
One wraps from Winter's harm the buried seeds ; 
The other scatters the night-breath of weeds, 

And airy poisons thus grow innocent ! 

But chiller, colder than or wind or snow. 
Their maxims sad, who still refuse to know 

God, by His own-told name 
And, captivated in a sensuous maze, 
Trace only forms that blend in evening-haze 

Or worship at some Gheber morning-flame ! 

Created things they see — not Who creates; 

An order, stern in beauty and that date.s 

Birth from no ^vhen or where: 
108 



Nature and Revelation. 109 

A Nature, ever-bearing, never born ; 

An era from some self-made cycle torn ; — 

Such shadows, all they own as Gtod-like, are. 

No love to wake, no prayer to warm their hearts; 
No hope to linger when all else departs; 

No gleam beyond the grave ; 
— More worth, the superstitions wild that twine 
Around the veiled Disposer's G-recian shrine ^ 

And comfort trusting souls they fail to save 

'Strange, as the world grows older, that more wise 
It grows not; but, as years successive rise. 

Rash spirits wildly try 
To follow roads none ever safely trod 
And, building altars to an Unknown God, 

Adore in blindness to 'scape mystery ! 

'Tis not enough, at Nature's fane to dream ; 
'Tis not enough, a God exists to deem ; 

He is and He rewards : 
And (will we so, or not) to us, one Day, 
For every act and thought, for work or play, 

His judgment just a verdict sure, accords. 



110 Sixth Sunday after Trinity. 

Another clime is round that Judgment-seat. 
We, pilgrims, hasten on, its breath to meet, 

Like leaves upon the blast 
— Yet not the breath of Eden, nor the yield 
Of flowers Elysian in sweet Enna's field, 

Nor odors that the vines of Carmel cast ! 

None may presume to go there unafraid 

Save Children ; (not as Heathen Wise-ones said, 

But those) who die to sin 
And, buried in the bright, baptismal wave. 
Their portion with th' Incarnate Founder have 

And rise, an heirdom in His realm to win ! 



7 Disposer is the English equivalent for the Name given by the Greeks 
to the Supreme. 

'^ See Acts xvii. 28. The commentators geii jfalk have referred this to 
Aratus, the countryman of S. Paul. They should have included Mustcus 
and Pindar; and as the Greek term (Poet, or Maker) was not confined to 
those who wrote in metre, and certainly not to those only \\'hose surviving 
works are rhythmical, there is room also foi- Plato and Pythagoras. 



thtnt^ ^Hiikg dhx f riititg. 



2:32; WILDERNESS. 



0, aid me, Father, as I strive 
Out from the world to come ; 

And in the Wilderness, 0, give 

Strength that maj lead me home. 

Long wandering, I have sought Thy face 

And, thirsting, panted for Thy grace 

— Some fresh reviving ray — 
To guide me o'er each rugged steep 
And thorny vale, that empire keep 

Across my weary way! 

Thy footsteps sometimes, still, I see; 

And, o'er the cool night air. 
Low, distant voices come from Thee 

— A promise unto prayer : 

111 



112 Seventh Sunday after Trinity. 

But long the way and strong the toil, 
And earnest foes would yet beguile 

The Pilgrim from his road ; 
While, far, full many a tempting scene 
Uprises on the view "between 

The Wanderer and his God ! 

What wonder, then, if languid there 

I cling unto the Earth; 
Or turn aside, in fierce despair, 

To scenes of reckless mirth V 
What wonder then if, losing Thee, 
Naught mid the mist and dews I see 

But dark, portentous Forms ; 
Or, glittering through the earth-born haze, 
Upon some fiery breath I gaze, 

That lightens not nor warms V 

By all the hopes that ever sprung 
From my lone heart to Thee ; 

By all the vows, o'er which were flung 
Faith's robes of purity; 

By every prayer that inly strove, 

And every grief that kindly wove 



The Wilderness. 113 

Some Heaven -ascending chain : — 
I cling to Thee Who wert their guide. 
The Tremblers near the swelling tide, 

-—The Murmurers on the plain. 

0, teach me, when I follow Thee, 

If fainting by the way. 
Through all, with patient hope, to see 

Thyself my certain stay : 
And, gathering up each broken prayer 
And wasted vow, assemble there 

rAs in the Wild of old) 
A feast that may the soul renew 
And fragments on the way to strew. 

When Love is growing cold 1 



^ig^t^ Sokg dhx Crhtitg. 



THE PASSAGE OF THE BED SEA. 



" Why stand ye here and gaze 

Upon that sullen Sea V 
Where the early sun-beam plays 
As brightly as in other days, 
Unmarked by any shuddering phase 
Like that which, yester-eve, corpse-strewed the coral lea. 

" Say,, do ye love to mark 

■ His hand that surely led 
O'er a wilder sea, the Ark ; 
And, in a pilgrimage as dark. 
Lone Jacob, guided safe and stark, 
With light of Angel-dreams round his stone-pillowed head ? 

" Or do ye, grateful, dwell 

(With hearts to change no more) 
On the wonders that so well 

- 114 



The Passage of the Red Sea. 115 

Broke worshipped Tsis' strongest spell ; 
While 'princely hall and prisoners' cell [store ? 
Learned, in a First-born lost, yonr trampled birth-right's 

'• Fancy, fitful, frail ! 

Hearts, helpless, frailer still ! 

— Jjo, beneath your foreheads pale 
(More blanched from every sickening gale) 
God reads the brain-inscribed tale 

Of miracles misjudged, of murmuring, proud self-will ! 

" Nine times_, the morning bright 

Wakes th' Erythroean wave ; 
And, like melting sea-mists' flight. 
The awful vows to-day ye plight. 
At Mara vanish out of sight 
— Recalled but by the sign of God's great plan to save ! 

"Scarce cease the Angelic crew 

For this their anthem high, 
Ere ye claim a wonder new : 

— I see the Wild all white with dew; 
'Tis Angels' food from Heaven for you, 

To win you from the chain of Egypt's luxury ! 



116 Eight}i Sunday after Trinity. 

" Lo ! Sinai's lightning-glare 

Still to your strained eyes shines ; 
Spirit-trumpets echo there : 
Yet whence is this procession fair, 
While wonaen's voices charm the air ? 
— 0, more than falsest false, ye build foul Apis' shrines! 

" Giver of prophet-ken, 
. Blind me upon this strand ; 
Hide, oh ! hide that quaking plain 
— Christ's symbol lifted there in vain — 
And bleaching bones, that long have lain. 
Of wanderers shut at last out from Thy promised Land !" 

So sighed, on Edom's shore, 
One of the Pilgrim-host ; 
One who prophet-unction wore 
And read the Future, sad and sore, 
That all GtOd's love, proved and in store, 
Could not redeem — by men's wild pride and passion lost ! 

Do we, in this late day, 

(By emblems led, as true) 
Shudder o'er their thankless way ? — - 



The Passage of the Red ^Sea. 117 

Alas, how our own hearts betray ! 
Our deeds our pcirentage display; 
We but build sepulchres for those our fathers slew ! 

Like them, we tread a strand 

That wrathful tokens strew : 
More than Moses' Eaptist-hand 
Has signed and sealed us where we stand ; 
While, wider over sea and land. 
Our fires of Pentecost their guiding flame renew ! 

The Wilderness of Sin 

Holds both our marches slow ; 
Thu'sty pilgrims faint within : 
But ah ! what higher meed we win, 
Who drink where gracious streams begin, 
From not the smitten Rock but Christ's pierced side, to flow 1 

And if Archangels' bread 

For them in sweet dew fell ; 
Are not we divinely fed ? 
Does not a mystery more dread 
Half-shrine the chancel where we tread 
And see, in symbols meek, a real Presence dwell ? 



118 Eighth Sunday after Trinity. 

Lord of such grace and love, 

If we, by self beguiled, 
Shameless o'er vows broken prove, — 
* At least let dread our spirits move 

To shun their sm who with Thee strove — 
Who. mid "the Red iSea saved, yet perished m the Wild ! 



l^iiitlj Sinikg kIUx frinitg, 



THE CENSER OF THE CHURCH. 



Yes ! bold thy censer 'twixt the Dead and Living, 

By fire to show forth Life — by ashes, Death ; 
Its vaporous wreaths, still upwards lightly striving, 
Are transient as Man's quickly fleeting breath ; 
Yet offered as God saith, 
With due rite and firm faith. 
His wrath it stayeth or it sweeteneth ! 

Type, thou, of power more holy than aught human I 
Foreshadowing function of that Priest Most High 
Who, in times later, came (true GrOD, and true Man, 
And so, to both in kin and feeling, nigh) 
To stand alone between 
Men dead in utter sin 
And the avenging, Living Deity ! 



Hence is it, from the grace of Christ's anointing, 

That priestly hands work in such wondrous way ; 

119 



1.20 Niiitli Smidaii after Trivltij. 

And til at, within the Church of His appointing, 
Mere outward forms exert such latent sway ; 

They do but Him reflect, 

They borrow from His act 
The potency created things obey. 

Like Israel in the Wilderness of Paran, 

The Church counts all her cloud and sea baptise; 
While chosen Ones, called, separate, like Aaron, 
The sinners watch, who their own souls despise, 
And holy vessels bear, 
With incense of fond prayer. 
To make atonement as Sin's plague-spots rise ! 

Yet, spite the watch o'er the mixed congregation. 

Beneath His eye that sees without, within, 
(Whose love or wrath claims now no race nor nation) 
Pride will break forth and judgment follow sin ; 
And, though no visible scourge 
The Church's ranks may purge, 
A death as hopeless doth its victims win. 

Woe to tliose Victims ! but tlielr fate liow awful 

Whose hearts, like Korah's, scorn an humble place ; 



The Censer of tlie Church. 121 

And, deeming aught above tlieir sphere, uniawtiil, > 
Seek for their noisy gifts a wider space : 
These meet no common end, 
Who know not how to blend * 

Their priestly power with its meek, sweetest grace ! 

For others, too, there waits as deep perdition 

— The Dathans who Christ's 'stablished order slight — 
And warrant to themselves a full commission 
In each distempered Yoice or wandering Light : 
They see Damascus hold 
The Apostle keen and bold, 
But not the trembling Saint and dazzled sight ! 

But deepest, saddest, is the gloom unending 

Of those who have, with Balaam, earlier worn 
An unction from on high ; till, one day bending 
To earthly pomp or wealth or lust, they scorn 
Their simple, holy cell 
(Where Angels fain might dwell) 
To join Earth's strife and win a heart forlorn ! 



%tnt\ Srakg lifter Criint^j 



TITE WO OF BALAAM. 



Not for all the breath of incense burning, 

Not for all the life of victims slain, 
Not for every altar whence returning 

Still thou hop'st some vantage-ground to gain- 
Not for these or more. 
Does His mercies' store 
Fail those who His chosen Race remain ! 

While the jflame in Zophim leaps the highest, 

Come no answering flashes from above ; 

O'er enchantments vainly sped, thou sighest 

In the verge of Poor's haunted grove ; 

— Mightier far than aught 

Weird familiars brought, 

— Stronger than all elfin-spells, Gtod's love ! 

So, thine eyes, untranced mid arts unholy, 

Mark the Star of Jacob's destiny 
122 



The Wo of Balaam. 123 

Gilding Judah's .sceptre, till it slowly 
Pales at its twin-sister of the sky; 
Whose pure, orient gleam 
Grlows with Shiloh's beam, 
Whose sphere holds the Righteous when they die ! ^ 

So, thy lips, with more touched than thou knewest, 

Wider fate than Canuiin's, reveal; 
And thy words, not so meant, but yet truest 
Verdict for the race of Adam, seal; 
Breathing, high and low. 
Tones of joy and wo, 
Veiling what yet unborn years conceal. 

Sad thy mission, Son of Beor, favoreu 

With a more than mortal sight and word ! 
Sadder that, when thus sent, thou hast wavered 
O'er thy pagan rites, to meet the Lord ! 
Saddest that, when met, 
Wilful counsel yet, 

Lucre-led, thy false heart could afford ! 

•t 

Do I judge thee, Prophet deeply erring ? 

Dare I strike a note, than G-rief 's more stern ? 



124 Tenth Sunday after Trinity. 

— Nay ! more gracious baptism than thine, wearing 
Let me rather mine own lesson learn : 
(Doleful yet true chime 
For all Christian time) 
Balaam's sin shall wo like Balaam's earn I 



^ It was a patristical idea which a poet may be excused for tolerating, 
that the Star of the Magi (the veritable Star of Jacob that Balaam saw) 
was the abode of the disembodied spii'its of the Righteous, who shall be 
hereafter recalled from such planetary limbo 



ekittlj Sokg after Critiitg. 



THE PUBLIC AITS PRATER. 



! Merciful, within Thy temple kneeling, 

Let me not bring my iiearfc^s vain treasures there ; 
Nor as I bend, one taint of earthly feeling 

Enter to desecrate Thine House of prayer ; 
But, as I hear Thy word Thy will revealing, 

Let me be bowed as where Thyself hast trod ; 

1 look to Thee, each wound, each sorrow healing,— 

T pray to Thee : Be merciful, O God ! 

I know that many watch their chains upon me, 

Sinful and strong, ev'n in Thy courts to fling ; 
T know how often from those courts have won me 

Some wandering tone, some moth with painted wing ; 
I miss the sparkles of Thy baptism on me. 

Exhaled or stained in all its holy flood ; 
Each day, all holier thoughts and spirits shun me ; 

— I can but pray : Be merciful, God ! 

125 



126 Eleventh Sunday after Trinity. 

For all, with trembling steps, as Time is stealing, 

Still would I hasten to Thine House of prayer, 
That, as I bend myself, no sin concealing, 

Soul, body, spirit, all be prostrate there ; 
And, as I hear Thy word Thy will revealing. 

Let me bow down as where Thyself hast trod ; 
I look to Thee, each wound, each sorrow healing ; ■ 

I pray to Thee : Be merciful. God 1 



Cfodftj) Sniikg dhx Crinitj. 



LETTER AND SPIRIT. 



Long years, Mother, since th' Elected ones 
First decked thee with their many-colored pall ; 

And, in the Wilderness, thy wandering sons 
Vowed by thy graven law to stand or fall 

— To follow cheerfully at their Redeemer's call ! 

They saw thee glowing in thy youthful prime. 
Ere yet a tear was shed o'er children lost ; 
And fervid, as became their Eastern clime, 
» Rose worship from embattled Israel's host, [coast. 
Before their tents were pitched on verdant Canaan's 

Y^et so it lasted not ; ere long out-broke. 
As once at Massah, proud and selfish wills 

That murmured even when their Maker spoke ; 

— Alas, to find out soon, by sharpest ills, 

Though merciful the Law, that yet its letter kills ! 

12^ 



128 Twelfth Sunday after Trinity. 

So do we find it still, now earlier rites 
Melt in a forro as glorious, more serene ; 

When a Veiled Prophet now no more invjtes 
His shuddering Tribes to gaze on Sinai's sheen, 

Or frail High-priest need stand, Man and his God between. 

If changed the Law, the Griver is the same ; 

Like is the fruit when green again the tree ; 
Still burn our hearts, in Israel's rebel flame, 

— Seeking for aye at Power's right hand to be, 
Meting by hours on Earth, lots in Eternity ! 

0, Heart of mine, that sadly lingers where 
The gloomy plain with spectral shades is rife, 

And all good deeds shapes foul, repulsive, wear — 
Take courage still amid th' appalling strife : 

>— Howe'er the Letter kills, the Spirit can give Life! 



®|irteeiitjj Stnikg after Siriiiiti. 



THE MOURNING OVER JERUSALEM. 



Know'st thou that Voice whose tender tone 
Calls souls, GrOD wants to make His own, 
And, mid Man's fierce or careless slight, 
Breathes sweetly like some breeze at night 
That scatters perfume where it sweeps 
And whispers calmness as it sleeps ? 

" Jerusalem, Jerusalem, 
Who kill'st thy prophets — stonest them 
That come to teach thee ! Ah, how oft 
Would I, than parent-bird more soft, 
Have drawn thy children near and got 
Food for their need ; but thou wouldst not !" 

So fell the strain, one weary day. 
The Saviour stopped Him on His way, 
To mark and wither with His word 

129 



130 Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity. 

Th' unreadiest to know their Lord : 

— A pitying close, to warn and win 
AUj but tli' unpardonable sin I 

'Twas morning, as His footsteps fell 
On Kedron's prophet-storied dell ; 
The dusky olive greener glowed, 
The yellow fig more golden showed, 
And lowliest flowers all jewelled grew. 
For giving back fresh Day-light's hue ! 

All Nature sang ; but, to His ear 
Who made all, not so true or clear 
Did that unvoiced World-music seem ; 
For, ever since Earth's Eden-dream, 
Our Nature -worship needs ally 

— Man's Love — to make it harmony ! 

With that, might Nature, glad, once more 
Eenew the type that Eden wore ; 

— No fitful seasons' varying sway ; 
No creeping Age's slow decay ; 
Nor faculties, with toil grown weak, 
That rest, to bloom again, must seek ; 



The Mourning over Jerusalem- I'Sl 

But all at once, leaf, flower and fruit : 
No more the fig-tree, conscious, mute, 
Need tremble as its Lord comes by 
Or, for IMan's learning, fade and die ; 
But flesh and grass, in boundless range, 
From bright to brighter glory change ! 

"Would we the lesson rightly read. 

It tells us of the earnest heed 

Our daily barrenness demands, 

And of the sentence sharp that stands 

To be revealed on some sad Day 

When Christ shall pass along our way ! 

Nor less the import of the woes, 
If mysteried, the words disclose 
Against those souls whose worldly art 
But compasses a worldly part ; 
Whose discord with God's love supplies 
No note in Nature's harmonies. 

Ah ! hopeless every Heaven-ward aim. 
Did not a gracious Voice proclaim 
The marvel of GtOd's suffering — 



182 ThiHeenth Sunda/y after Trinity. 

How Faitli and Love again may string 
Our broken harp till, true and well, 
A perfect diapason swell ! 

List, then, and learn that tender tone 
Assuring us GtOd seeks His own : 
He, who could weep o'er Judah's race. 
To humbler hearts no scanty grace 
Will scatter from His sparkling wing, 
. Safe underneath, those hearts to bring 



Jf0iii*tuiit{) Simhig iifttr ©riiiitg 



THE ANTE-GHAMBEB, 



If, from that deep, unknown abyss 
Whose bosom holds both wo and bliss, 

Again those souls looked forth, once prisoned here ; 
How would one glance, could Man abey 
Their gaze, who know all now, convey 

A teaching, true and sad, of danger near. 

Unready and unwise, they say, 

If careless, as Day glides by Day, * 

We slumber till the awful Bridegroom come : 

Ungrateful, if the thought arise 

To weigh each little sacrifice 
And with one talent buy our long, long home ! 

Alas ! in that dark list of crime 

First entered when, in Earth's green prime. 

Man thanked, with but a brother's blood, his God — 

133 



184 Fou7'teenth Simday after Trinity. 

Not only sleep or buried gift;^ 
(Whose whited cerements, cold Death lifts) 
Invoke on us the stern Avenger's rod ! 

Nine times, the Son of Gron, in vain, 

Removed the kneeling leper's stain, 
(Healed, had there breathed one grateful feeling there ;) 

While erst, amid the Chosen race, 

Their Saviour's glory, face to face, 
Was dimmed before their idol-song and prayer ! 

Nor strange, when blessings, thrice declared, 

No softer made the hearts that dared 
To murmur at the meat their Maker gave ; — 

When not the dying odors, shed 

Around the Prophet's unbent head, 
Could scent the flowing of Meribah's wave ! 

God ! not a sad Spirit's look, 

Nor vision, nor unsealed Book 
Warmed by prophetic search until made plain, 

Need we, to see the wo and want, 

The duty and the fear that haunt 
This solemn vestibule of endless gain I 



The Ante-chamber. 135 

Happy, if as we wait Thee nere, 

Each poor man's sigh, each mourner's tear 

Awake in us Thy heaven-taught sympathy : 
But happier if, all watchings past, 
(When gathered near Thv throno at last) 

We find their grateful debt o'erpaid by Thee ! 



Jifiuittj) Siuibag rIUx Criintj 



TN±J CO VtmANT-lSTONtJ. 

Thou art the same, — Wlio watched of ok! 

Thy peaceful Hace draw nigh ; 
When lance's point and banner-fold 

Grieamed idly to the sky ; 
When, gathered round the hallowed Stone, 

— Their Leader's solemn warnings done — ■ 
Their oft repeated pledges own 

Love that would never die ! 

Thou art the same, — now other rites 
New vows, new service, bring ; 

Now that Thy chosen Israel fights 
Against no earthly king. 

Thou still rewardest, as of old, 

Thy warrior-servants' bearing bold 

— Their hearts to Idol-worship cold 

But warm, by Thine to cling ! 



The C'jiymantStone. 137 

Thine Eye yet sees the Covenant-stoiie 

(Fresh planted by Thy hand) 
A witness of the Eaith we own, 

Elect and liyiug, stand : 
"Wo worth the day, the Church forgets 
The sign which of her truth it sets 
Or, blind and frail, in friendship meets 

Where stranger-t3'^pes command ! 

Thou claimest allegiance, yet, as true, 

Devotion more entire ; 
And dost our way with symbols strew 

That faith and love inspire ; 
— Grreen fields all waving from few seed, 
The spicy tree's refreshing meed, 
The cheerful birds whom Thou dost feed, 

All lead our prospects higher ! 

LOEJ),' — Who can blend, as erst so now. 

Blessings and mournful ill, — 
Aid us to keep the faith we vow. 

Help us our vows to fill ! 
When Mammon tempts us to his sway 
0, let it not our trust betray ; 



188 Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity. 

And, if storms vex our closing day, 
Do Thou the Ocean still I 

And when, a G-entile Church, at last 

We crowd Thy shrine on high ; 

— Our well-tried weapons' uses past, 

Or gleaming idly by, 
Another Canaan all our own, 
Our Leader's glorious promise won, — 
Let us but hear His blissful tone : 
" For ]jOve that ne'er can die I" 



i^lceiitj) Sintbag after Siriiiitg, 



TEE JUDGE BEHIND THE DOOR. 



O, Lesson wisely to all hearts addrest ! 
Well may we keep it folded to our breast 
Till all its power we catch, 

— The meanings deep that in its few words live, 
(No more, the Sayiour saw it fit to give) 

" T say to each one : Watch !" 

Is it not little that the Master asks ? 

— No unpaid toil, no arbitrary tasks, 

No penance for our Fall ; 
But simply that with ears, Love open keeps. 
With eye that, e'en if closed, expectant sleeps, 

We wait His promised call ! 

Say, had He bid us ever on our feet 

To stand, like trembling pris'ners, soon to meet 

Th' Avenger of our sin ; 
139 



140 Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity. 

Could we have murmured, — we who, every day. 
Teach one another more to drive astray 
The souls He wants to win */ 

We can be wakeful in our least concerns : 

— See, if, by chance, some shepherd-fire o'erburns, 

How many eyes to gaze ! 
Or if we seek some petty Earth-lord's smile, 
,ioi\' cheerfally we heed, heart-sick the whilCj 

All his capricious ways! 

Or if, with aims less selfish and less low. 
We long one line of Nature's laws to know, 

How wait we for dim light ; 
While yonder, wandering through some Pleiad-dance, 
A prouder soul grows, in his star-fed trance, 

Companion to the Night ! 

0, say not, then, our Maker overtasks 

The strength He gave, when it all-nerved He asks, 

— Not for some winged wealth ; 
Not, hour by hour, to watch a bud expand ; 
Not, ever sea-rocked, still to sail round land ; 

Not. for our neigTibor's health. 



The Judge hehind the Door. 14 J 

To search mid poisons for new life-defence 
Or, year by year, to track the pestilence ; 

To dare electric fire ; ' 
Or, while the sight grows dim, spite optic art. 
To count through weary nights, with wearier heart. 

How other Worlds expire : — 

But, with philosophy most calm and true, 
To seek our highest gain in what we do ; 

To nurse our own heart-flowers ; 
From every passion-tempest, learn the more 
To steer our life-bark to a stormless shore ; 

To test the healing powers 

Of medicines no human hand compounds 
(G-od's ordinances curing all soul-wounds ;) 

And, — since ere long the Veil 
" Will surely fall, to shut out from our sight 
Earth-scenes — to read in every watching night 

That Star which does not fail ! 

0, warned in time, let not your lamps grow dim ; 
Though ye believe not, yet ye wait on Him, 
The Judge behind the Door : 



142 Sixteenth /Sunday after Trinity. 

He, if He hide it from His Angels' ken. 
Reveals each instant to some Child of men 
His Coming's awful horn- ! 

And we, the early called in Childhood's faith, 
Or, more mature, along the Church's patL 

Led, by her teaching true, 
To learn a lesson from the falling leaf. 
From all life-tokens ev'n more frail and brief, 

— Lord, what shall these men do "l — - 

Help us to stand like such as wait for Thee ; 
Forever longing in Thy train to be ; 

As for some Bridal, dressed ; 
And reckoning, by the alternate light and gloom 
That, sent by Thee, plays o'er our World and home 

And heart, our hour of rest ; 

Till the glad moment comes that, ushered in 
By Death, th' obedient Servants' meed we win 

And the best import catch 
(Last, understood by souls in bliss alone,; 
Of Thy deep warning words, now fully known, 

" Blessed are those that watch !" 



ikittttiitji ^uiikg after friititg. 



THE PASSPORT. 



Straight is the gate and narrow is the way 

To Life, that leadeth ! 
Dark-robed and stern, to quench our short-lived Day 

The drear Night speedeth ! 
To that dim strife and sore, ! who shall say 

What gloom succeedeth, 
And what strong, gentle Hand to be our stay, 

Our spirit needeth ? 

When Morn is young, it, 'twixt dew-gem and dower, 

Our gaze divideth ; 
More late. Earth's glare or dust, her wind or shower 

Heaven's dim path hideth ; 
Old-age hath passed it, or with failing power 

Helpless abideth ; — 

Lord, how a turning leaf, a shade, an hour 

Our lot decideth ! 
143 



144 Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity 

Full many seek in vain to enter ir. 

Thy Grate-way lowly, — 
Seek ; but not strive, therefore they fail to win 

Their guerdon wholly. 
'Tis not enough (though good-will to begin 

Is Thy gift solely) 
We hear Thy teaching or leave off some sin. 

To make us holy : 

"We have not won the way, though we mav prove 

Thy baptism given ; 
Nor, though the pledges of Thy dying love 

We taste here, even ; 
But more than these — 0, keep Thou, Holiest Dove, 

Souls that have striven 
As Thou command' st, and guide them from above 

To enter Heaven 1 



(fig^tuiitlj SiiHkg dUx Criititj, 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 



Once, when Summer's light was low 

In the distant West ; 
And purple Twilight, creeping slow, 
Stole, tint by tint, the Evening's glow ; 
Where rich clustering vines did grow, 

I laid me down to rest. 

And then slumber, unperceived, 

O'er me listless, fell ; 
I saw no more where vines, thick-leaved, 
Sweet glimpses of the light received, 
Or where branches interweaved 

Quaint syllables, to spell. 

But my sense, a new clime woo'd 

With strange scenery ; 
— Far off, there gleamed Tiberias' flood, 

145 



146 Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity. 

While, darkly shading inaviy a rood, 
Hermon rose, all crowned with, wooa, 
Against the Eastern sky. 

Yet the look of gleam and shade, 

Lakeland storied dell, 
(With child-lore, half-familiar made) 
Charmed not my gaze from one weird glade 
Where the very birds, afraid. 

Spared their song-dreams to tell ! 

Soon I knew why silent there, 
When I looked more nigh ; 

A Man^ — true image of despair — 

Had made within his hopeless lair. 

Till the heavy, stagnant air 

Had sickened with his sigh ! 

There he writhed — no tear, no cry — 

For a weary space : 
When, sharp athwart the brilliant sky, 
The shadow of a Dove went by 
And, a moment, seemed to lie 

On his nallid face. 



The Prodigal Son. 147 

I know not what slumbering chord 

Of nis soul, It woke 
Or what long-buried memories, stored 
Within his brain, like fire were poured ; 
But with firm, reflected word 

And gentle tears, he spoke : 

•' Better those who humbly earn 

Bread at home, than I ; 
Repejitant, there I will return. 
Not son-like, but to service stern ; 
Father ! pardon now, nor spurn 

Slow-learning misery !'' 

As he said this, one might see 

•Nature understood ; 
And breaking forth in sympathy. 
(As longing all the time, to be 
In accord) sweet minstrelsy 

Rang through th^ enchanted wood. 

Sweeter, every sw:elling tone 

For the hush before ; 
More brilliant, all the rich tints thrown ' 



148 Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity. 

Upon the landscape, till it shone 
Too intense to gaze upon ; 

— I slumbered then no more. 

And the vine-leaves hanging low, 

As at first, I found ; 
But mellow Eve's retreating glow 
Was lost in dusky Twilight now. 
Where quaint shadows come and go 

Half guest-, half ghost-like, round. 

And a low, clear whisper came 

(Through my bones it ran) 
As if a Spirit called my name : 
" Poor Sleeper I 'twas not all a dream 
""—That sad glade, that wan One's shame; 
My Son ! thou art the Man !" 



lin^tuntlj Sintiag dhx Criiiitg, 



2-HI; DEDICATION. 



" And will the Lord indeed 
Dwell on the earth, He made? — 

He Who, for fitting Court, would need « 
The Heaven of Heavens where Angels heed 
His glance, will He endure this human Temple's shade?" 

So breathed the strain one day 
From Mankind's Wisest son ; 

While kneeling millions round him lay 
Before a shrine of such display, 
That human Art well nigh a rank Divine^, had won ! 

Not in distrust or scorn, 
So doubtful rose his prayer ; 

No ghostly fear or pride forlorn, 
But a humility inborn, 

With pearls of Wisdom set, decked his devotion rare, 

149 



150 Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. 

But now, in later day? 
Of hopeless, heartless gleam, 

Men, lost in philosophic maze, 
— Too learned to love, too proud to praise^ 
Too free for faith — of gifts without a Giver, dream ! 

While some, less bold than these, 
A GrOD above them own ; 

But in cold Reason's chamber freeze 
And worshipping (not on their knees 
But in the spirit,) set Self on an Idol-throne ! 

Gruard us from such extremes, 
Lord of all Truth and G-race ; 

Alike, from superstitious dreams, 
And from wild, pantheistic schemes 
And from their creed, who put Man's feelings in Thy place ! 

Teach us, all glad, to pay 
The blushing Vineyard's due ; 

At Cassar's feet, his own to lay'; 
And. on the World's thick-crowded way, 
To learn their lineaments, who bear Thy tokens true ! 



The Dedicaticyii. 151 

So, though no outward shrine, 
With Israel's king, we build, 

A pledge and share of Life divine 
In pure, obedient hearts shall shine, 
Till, like that olden House, those hearts with Thee be filled ! 

And if it be, at first, 
A Cloud that hides from Thee ; 

A little while — it is dispersed, 
And o'er the heedful soul will burst, 
The Day-star's promised beam, to bid the darkness flee. 

Then may we say, indeed, 
(More wise, more humble made,) 

" He Who, for fitting Court, does need 

The Heaven of Heavens where Angels heed 

His glance, can yet endure poor, human Temples' shade !" 



Ctonttittlj ^Hitirag after tiriiiitg* 



THE PRAYER OF ELIA8. 



Whose is the breath, so sweet, so pure, 

That will not soil Thy shrine V 
Whose suppliant hands, canst Thou endure 

To see before Thee twine ? 
Whose is the faith, so calm, so sure, 

To ask for aught of Thine ? 

— Alas, our stains are wide and deep ; 
Within, foul Memories their dreary vigil keep I 

The snow-drops bright, all trustful, peep 

Up mid the sheer ice-field ; 
The juicy vines, untrelliced, creep 

And folded tendrils shield ; 
The violets on yon mossy steep 

Delicious odor yield ; 

But not ev'n fragrant violet 

Nor clasping vine nor fearless snow-drop are we yet 

152 



The Prayer of Elias. 153 

And these have not, like us, to bring 

Crushed hopes and languid cares 
To Thee, or chords unnerved to string 

Afresh with voiceless prayers ; 
Their duteous, life-long offering 

But praise for burden bears ; 

While loe, as thankless still as poor, 
Each moment feel thy help — each moment need it more ! 

If, in the glowing page we read 

The tale of Prophet's power ; 
To whom, the obedient clouds gave heed, 

Three years forbid to shower ; 
And who the parted soul could lead 

Back, after Death's worst hour ; 

— Slight claim to prophet-grace have we 
His children, who once thought to hide himself from Thee ! 

Yet from that storied page we learn 

A lesson true and high ; 
If gifts so large, our Race could earn, 

When all was shadowy, 
How freer, brighter far, they turn 

Since His humanity, 



154 Tioentieth /Sunaay after Trinity. 

Who each faint prayer in Heaven presents 
As kindest Son of Man and, Son of God, then grants ! 

For, ever since the chosen Few 

Watched once His cloud-borne way, 

The drops they caught, of falling dew 
In fonts baptismal stay ; 

And virtues, recked not of, imbue 
With a mysterious sway 
The simple food He blest and brake 
That elements of Earth might Heavenly nature take ! 

Thus cleansed, thus fed, we need not hide 

In hopelessness, our sin ; 
But follow where the Crucified 

Leads His regenerate kin ; 
And, though our prayers may not betide 

The prophet's meed to win, 

Dews yet more gracious heed our word 
And souls, once dead in sins, are to new Life restored. 

Thus called, thus blest, our breath grown pure 
J'ears not to soil Thy shrine ; 



The Prayer of Elias. 155 

Our suppliant haiicis are clasped secure 

Where'er Thine altars shine; 
And kindling faith, serene and sure, 
Makes us all but divine ; 
• — Without, Christ's footfall stills the Deep, 
Within, we wait for Him and pleasant vigil keep ! 



Ctonitg-firBl ShhJjot iiihx %xmt^. 



THE RIVERS OF DAMASCUJS, 



He stood beside the door 
Of the lone house and poor, 

(Wherein the Prophet chanced awhile to dwell) 
In Eastern vizier-pomp, 
With chariot and clear trump, 

The praise of Israel's healing G-od to swell! 

But forth, no wizard came, 

Pale-cheeked, with eye of flame ; 
No form, evoked by magic art, was seen ; 

A daily servitor 

The simple message bore : 
" Go, seven times wash in Jordan and be clean !" 

How often, since that day, 

The world hath seen the sway 

Of pride, the same that fired the Syrian's breast ! 

156 



The Rivers of Damascus. 157 

Ev'n now, we sinners turn 
Away and GtOd's plan spurn, 
If not just what Man dares to deem the best. 

And, though in other words, 

Our verdict still accords 
With the rude soldier's self-deceiving zeal ; 

Some vague and sensuous dream, 

Some dear Abana's stream, 
We hold more worth than Grospel-grace, to heal ! 

Lord of all Form and Power ! 

Why dim, unto this hour, 
Are all Thy lines, marked in both works and word V 

Why does our Faith so late 

For signs and wonders wait, 
As if calm order less showed forth the Lord V 

Why ask wc that it be 

A sudden leprosy 
To mark, Gehazi-like, the selfish sin? 

Or that, before our eyes, 

Stern Azrael arise 
To smite, as erst, th' Assyrian camp within ? 



158 Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. 

Needs it a visible Dove, 
Font-hovering, to prove 

The virtue rare of the Baptismal wave ? 
Or must we, sceptic, wait 
Until the Judgment-seat, 

To see Thy Body raise ours from the grave ? 

Thou canst shed o'er a sign 
The simplest, power Divine 

To work the wonders of Thy Love or Wrath ; 
Be ours such signs to learn 
Lest, Naaman-like, we spurn 

The easy rites that mark Salvation's path ! 



CfonitpetoHi) Sohg nikx Criititg. 



TEU ETERNITY OF THE GOSPEL, 



Who hath not felt the Ibliss of new-born Day 

Along its glowing way ; 
And, drinking of its countless, airy wells, 

Owned their enchanting spells ; 
Nor thought how each fresh-rising, fragrant Morn 

Hastes to that long-jDledged bourne 
Where neither Sun's bright beam, "nor Star's calm ray. 
But Light more heavenly still, shines endless on the way? 

EVn so, each period in the Church's life 

(Though waking to new strife) 
Marks the sure progress of the Eternal Will 

That weaves, unhindered still, 

(Whether amid a luscious landscape's gleam 

Or lurid cloud and flame) 
159 



160 T I uenty -second Sunday after Trinity, 

The varied web that ever to His Eye 
Lies all outspread at once, while myriad a^es fly. 

Not Man's, to know the pictures that it holds 

In undeveloped folds ; 
Save when, from G-od's own glance reflected, gleams 

Shine on some prophet's dreams ; 
As, once, the Father of the Faithful saw 

Christ's glad Day and new Law, 
Or passed before the Babylonish Seer 
Men's Empires o'er their kind, in living shapes of Fear. 

Now, since that gracious, purer Day hath risen 

Upon our earth-bound prison. 
Less needed (and so, quenched) is prophet-light ; 

But not left to the Night 
Of dark forebodings and of duties dim, 

Unmarked, unblest by Him, 
Are we; for, by His manifested word, 
We learn and treasure up the portents of the Lord ! 

With more of grace, to help our faint, frail aim, 
Than prescient seers could claim ; 



The Eternity of the Gospel. 161 

With more than Light, to shine along our way, 
— Ev'n Endless Life's clear ray ; 

With surest pledge, that who GtOd's law ensue 
Shall know the Good and True : — 

We deeper pierce, than Hebrew sage, the scroll 
A.nd watch a fate serene, when worlds unlearn to roll ! 

The Merciful, He leaves not those alone 

Whom He has made His own ; 
But as, once, lions in their Persian den 

Became more tame than men, 
At His command ; and (be we reverent here) 

As He was ever near 
The Son of Man in more than human straits, — 
His presence still round those who love to please Him, waits ! 

Nor is the way to please Him, dim or hard ; 

But brilliant with reward : 
— The law of love, that Cain once fiercely broke 

With fratricidal stroke ; 
The instance, that but sinless ones alone 

May cast at G-uilt the stone ; 
The warning, lest our pardons count by seven ; 
The threat, not to forgive is to be not forgiven ! 



162 Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity. 

Such is the Grospel-law, the Saviouii brought ; 

That, e'en ere Eden-taught, 
Ran, chainlike, through what is and is to be 

In our World-history ; 
Now, shedding o'er some scene celestial light 

Now, quenched in heathen night ; 
But serving always fitly as the key 
Of Time's dim, solemn march on to Eternity ! 



Ctaeiitj-t|irly Stinkg after Criititg. 



THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE. 



In Eden, when the Earth was new, 

Two trees not far asunder grew ; 

One Knowledge bore, — the other, Life ; 

As if was then begun the strife 

How heavenly bliss might best be won, 

— Whether by intellect alone 

Or by Obedience, to prove 

A litness for those realms where Life is fed on Love ! 

« 
We know too well that Eden-choice ; 
We hear, each day, too plain the Voice 
That whispered lofty promise tliere : 
" Ye shall not die ; — another sphere, 
More safe and high, awaits their tread 
Who dare on Wisdom's fruit to feed : 
One taste — one step — and ye shall grow 

As (rods yourselves, like Him, both good and ill to know !" 

163 



164 Twenty -third Sunday aft&r Trinity. 

Since then, that earliest dream all o'er, 
We, children, wander by the shore 
Of Time's vast sea, and watch afar 
The gleaming (like some distant star) 
Of Cherub-swords that guard and show 
The Paradise shut from us now, 
— Condemned, how perilous to prove, 
How sorrowful tlieir lot, who ralther know than love ! 

Nor is it only Man's wild will 
That thus is paid ; but Knowledge still 
Has, in its nature. Sorrow's seed. 
Else wherefore was the Wise king's meed, 
With all his search, but Vanity ? 
And (higher, apter instance) why 
Was He, the all-prescient One, the while 
He dwelt with us on Earth, seen never once to smile ? 

Wrapped in His words the Truth doth lie, 
(Perhaps made into Truth, thereby) 
'•' If blind, ye should be without sin ;" 
And thence, as consequence, we win — 
" If sinless, without sorrow too ;" 
For every heart that Sin doth woo 



The Tree of Knowledge. 165 

Successfully, has for its dower 
Sharp, unfamiliar Griefs that vex the bridal-hour. 

So, Light and Crime and Suffering stand, 
Three Mighties, linking hand in hand 
And haunting every avenue 
That mortals tread, in various hue ; 

— Now, Heaven to scale, they tempt the mind, 

— Now, sense, with pleasures less refined ; 
But leading sure their votaries 

To some such steep as where the baffled Titan lies ! 

0, riddle hardest to be read ! 
0, mystery most near, most dread ! 
— Undying souls, (so far divine) 
Encased in such a mortal shrine ; 
E'er struggling with transcendant aims 
While Earth, each hour, its tribute claims; 
Ev'n as they burn to pass the skies, 
Polluting, with strange fire, their holiest sacrifice ! 

Light, enough to miss the way — 
Knowledge, that just can lead astray — 



166 Tioenty-third Sunday after Trinity. 

Would ye were either less or more ! 
— So speaks my heart ; but from the store 
Of Scripture, comes another tone : 
'■'• My Servant ! leave such doubts alone ; 
Seek but to do as I command, 
In hope and love ; the rest is safe within My hand !" 

Else, every Morn's returning light, 
The Seasons' many colored flight. 
The wonders that our frames disclose 
And, (stranger still) the fire that glows 
Within, — each trace that God has given 
To point our wandering minds to Heaven — 
Mislead the souls they were to guide, 
Till Nature's brightest works her Maker only hide ! 

'Tis only, when the humbled heart, 
With conscience soft, will do its part, — 
Accepting, first, revealed lore ; 
Then, if it venture to explore 
Creation-marvels, quick to find 
Christ's light without which all are blind — 
That Man another taste may claim 
Of Fruit which, Eden-touched, turned to consuming Flame ! 



Ctonitg-foiirtlj SuiiirEg after Crinitg, 



HYPOSTASIS. 



Two dew-drops, run together ; 
Two clouds that, floating, blend in summer-weather ; 

Two smoke-wreaths, ujoward driven, 
That mingle ere thej melt away tow'rds Heaven ; 

Two voices, but one tone ; 
Two hearts — ah ! leave those hearts alone, 

Nor dream in human types to see 

The semblance of the harmony 
That, (echoing notes, ! Saviour, Thine 

In Thine abasement's mystery) 
Breathes, in regenerate Man, the Human and Divine ! 

EVn those works where GtOd's finger 
Has left its traces, not so marred, to linger ; 

Or where His shadow falling 
Makes outlines still, though dim, Himself recalling; 

— The gentle drops of dew, 

The vapors melting out of view, 

167 



168 Twenty -fourth Sunday after Trinity. 

The harmless air whose tone^ are heard 
As when by leaves in Eden stirred, — 
These serve but faint half-thoughts to bode 
(Unfettered all by rhyme or word) 
Of union like to what new-forms us sons of God ! 

0, words, so strange, so awful I 
Well might we deem their utterance still unlawfftl, — 

Fit but for Psalmist's lyre 
Or wisest King or loved Apostle higher — '" 

If He, all Three Who taught. 
Had not, one day, rebuked such thought; 

Bidding the illy-reverent Jew 

Confess the Scriptures that he knew; 
And, to His Church now still more kind. 

Bestowing an assurance true 
On loving souls that, glad, room for His Spirit find. 

But lest some fond thought, hidden. 
Should cheat our hopes, clad in a shape forbidden; 

Or life-long cherished error, 
Dissolving one day at Death's touch in terror, 

Our sad mistake should prove,— 
Lo, gleaming lines of tenderest love 



Hypostasis. 169 

Betoken where that Spirit is ; 
And, by clear visible sympathies, 
Afford this test, external, true, 

Of whence our hopes regenerate rise : 
Who loves GrOD and is loved, must love his Brother, too ! 

Thus, following Christ's example, 
We come to share with Him, His heirdom ample. 

The Son of GtOD, most Holy, 
Became the Sou of Man, despised and lowly ; 

And, spite His thankless kin. 
Poured out His love and life to win 

For us the door of a new fold ; 

So, we, the sons of men, enrolled 
Among His sacramental host, 

Though a mysterious grace untold, 
Grrow to be the sons of Gron — gain more than Adam lost I 

No figure this, but real ! 
And, though the curious heart, that longs to see all, 

Misdoubts our secret treasure 
And deems that aught Divine should act at pleasure. 

(While we are fettered still,) 
We patiently our tasks fulfil ; 



170 Twenty -fourth Sunday after Trinity. 

Waiting until He comes again, 
Whose Manhood, once bowed down with pain, 
Is pattern of what ours shall be ; 
For mingling in His rapturous train 
We glorious grow like Him, Whom as He is, we see ! 



•0 See Ps. lii. 6. quoted in S, John x. 34. the Second Morning Lesson. 
The two chapters of the Proverbs of Solomon, taken as the First Lessons 
for the Day, contain the description of that Heavenly Wisdom which is 
figuratively said to have been with the LORD from the beginning as His 
Delight and Daughter, whom we are bid to win. The words of the Belov- 
ed Disciple are in John iii. 11. the Second Evening Lesson. 



Ctonitj-fiftl) Srakg aftn^ Sirinitg- 



TEE SOUL-WINNEBS. 



If, wandering on Life's beaten road, 

One spot, amid the verdant sod, 
Should most attract our heart and eyes ; 

It is, where Love from man to man. 

Its hallowed pilgrimage began. 
Where we may offer our best sacrifice ! 

So truest still, and likest Him — 

Who thought not shame nor grief to climb 

That awful Mount of gloom and woe, — 
Shall we be ; if, in following far. 
We strive upon our hearts to bear 

The Cross of loving every soul below. 

Winners of souls — how wise ! who deem 
Best of that road where mankind dream 
The hand that scatters, poorest still ; 

m 



172 Tioenty -fifth Sundai/ after Trinity. 

And who, if e'er the pathway be 
Arid and thirsty, faithful see 
A budding tree of Life by every rilL 

Therefore the needy ones they love, 
As they are loved ; and seek to prove 

The promised power their Maker gave : 
Rejoiced when, by as.siduous prayer 
And love and faith, they haply tear 

Some long-lost soul from its stone-covered grave ; 

Or feed, with kindly voice and hand. 
Poor wanderers in a desert land 

With bread and word and softest care ; 

And, thoughtful that the tenderest grace 
Lose not by disregard its place, 

Teach them to gather up the fragments there. 

They faint not in their glad endeavor 
Of giving and forgiving, ever ; 

Their perfect Love doth cast out Fear, 

While through the veil that thickly shrouds 
What is to be, mid glowing clouds. 

They see the Coming of their Saviour, near ! 



Ctoentg-siftl) S^uiiijag Kittx Criiiitg. 



THE HEART KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS. 



The dimpling smile on Beauty's cheek, 

• The brow so calm and fair, 
Pledge not within the peace we seek, 
— Hide not its secret there. 

And so, amid some pageant high, 
Some hour of glorious sheen, 

The form elate, the flashing eye 
Mask woful hearts, I ween ! 

No age, no rank, no toil, no love 

Evades this destiny ; 
But each created heart must prove 

Its lonely malady. 

The tender infant sobs amid 
The mother's soft caress ; 

And stalwart manhood's face is hid 
In silent bitterness. 



174 Twenty-sixth Sunday after Trinity. 

No heart can, to another's grief, 
Vibrate in full, true tone — 

No heart will bear to win relief, 
Unveiling all its own ! 

Nor does the sparkling flush of joy 
Grlow in reflected beam ; 

It wakes in each one's own employ, 
Or lives in each one's dream. 

We meet its gleam, in one we love, 
With constant, ready smile ; 

But how so little can so move, 

Wonder, perchance, the while. 

For ever since the Fall that drove 
Man out from Paradise, 

In vain our sympathetic love 
To be responsive, tries ! 

At best it is but half in tune, 

— A weak and shattered Harp, 

Athwart whose harmonies are strewu 
Wild discordg, harsh and sharp 



The Heart knoweth its own Bitterness. 175 

Loud, only Thou canst mark and feel 

Each wavering note, each sigh 
And tones that, half-unconscious, steal 

From burdened hearts, on high ! 

Happy, whose burden thither borne 

Grrows light as it ascends ; 
Till music from all hearts forlorn, 

Harmoniously blends ; — 

Till sicknesses of Hope deferred, 

By Thee touched gently, close ; — 

Till wishes, that each stray wind stirred, 
Now motionless repose ! 



Ctonitpeijentl Srakg niitx Crinitg. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 



A little while ! 
— Ah, how much hangs upon it, 
Of hasty joys, hopes killed, and sudden strife, 
And footholds lost upon the bridge of Life, 

And fruit found ashes just when we had Avon it 
By force or guile ! 

A little while, — 
In funeral darkness lying, 
We, too, are counted among things that were ; 
Yet ghosts of all our actions haunt us there, 
Like spectral-fires, at night-fall oft seen flying 
Round some old pile. 

0, reconcile 

Our souls to Thee, Redeemer ! 
So, in that gloomy hour we may but find 
The burdens of our life-time left behind. 

And feel that Thou dost liold us, spite our tremor, 

Safe all the while I 

1 7<; 



©>J£te. 



THE STRAIN HAS CEASED ; AND MANY AN EVE, 
SINCE IT WAS SUNG, HAS STOLEN NIGH 
THE ELM, WHERE FANCIES CAME TO WEAVE 
THEIR RUDE, UNLABORED TAPESTRY ; 
SO LONG AGO, THAT E\^EN I 

THE DREAMER THERE BUT HALF-REMEMBER 

EACH SHADE ONCE KNOWN, AND LINGERING LY 
HANG o'er it now, AS O'eR SOME EMBER 
OF CHERISHED FIRES ; OR START AT FINDING 
SOME TRACE THAT FRIGHTENS IN REMINDIN(i, 
LIKE one's old FOOT-PRINTS ON THE BEACH, 
THE WASTING TIDE HAS FAILED TO REACH. 

STEALING EVE, HAUNTED TREE, 

WOULD YE HAD BORNE OR LESS OR MORE TO ME ! 




,. .■ ,.,V., ■, r- , v> .<^--.';.V:. V, 



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